


What If I Say I Will Never Surrender?

by BlackUnicorn



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Police, Angst, BAMF Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Except its not, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Murder, Murder Mystery, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, New York City, One Night Stands, Organized Crime, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Steve Rogers, Partners to Lovers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Sam Wilson, Reunions, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson is a Saint, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Strangers to Lovers, minor Frank Castle/Matt Murdock/Karen Page
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-05 21:55:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20495954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackUnicorn/pseuds/BlackUnicorn
Summary: Here’s the thing. Bucky hates his job. That’s normal, you say? Well, sure, it just becomes a bit of a problem when you’re an NYPD detective and living with a group of criminals. Not that Bucky cares about that. Getting a new partner in the form of one Steven Grant Rogers isn’t helping. Neither is the body floating in the East River that might or might not be that of Howard Stark, richest bastard of the city.And Steve? Steve just kind of rolls with it.Somehow, they’re making it work.





	1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time Bucky had fucking loved his job, his job being a Police Officer for the 107th in New York City – or as they had always called it: the Howling Commandos.

Back then, when Chester Philips had still been captain and he had known most of the guys from his time in the military and – anyway…things had changed. Philips had been replaced by Fury who had cleared out the whole precinct except for him, Bucky…not that Bucky came to enjoy it…five years ago, Captain Nicolas Fury had had the great idea to send his best man undercover into the deepest depths of the American Underground Life, namely HYDRA. See, the thing with HYDRA was that they had eyes and ears everywhere and the number of people that knew of the mission could be counted off on one hand and…well…it didn’t allow for much of a goodbye.

He’d been working his way up the criminal ladder in fucking Chicago of all places (he was a Brooklyn kid, okay? Don’t judge), smuggling and stealing and beating up people as well as getting beat up himself and many, many other wonderful things that came with the thug-life. Torture had always been fun…or the part where he had killed various people…or the part where he had nearly lost his arm…

Anyway…Bucky did not love his job. Not anymore. He’d been back for six months now and he already wished he wasn’t. Things were complicated to say the least…Fury was still there minus one eye, and not as Captain but as the chief of police, in his place was now some woman called Maria Hill who had also made the decision to pull Bucky out of the undercover mission, so, yeah…there wasn’t one familiar face in the precinct. It bothered Bucky.

What bothered Bucky even more, was that he didn’t give a shit about the ‘criminals’ that came in each day. B&Es, vandalism, drunk driving, bar fights…it wasn’t like they were any actual threat, were they? No…the real threat, people didn’t even know about. The people in high offices, tugging on strings, killing hundreds and thousands of people without ever getting their hands dirty…the poor bastards doing the wet work for the gangs, the dirty cops looking away when they were most needed…Bucky knew he was being a hypocrite. He was one of those criminals. He’d done things, horrible things. And he was looking away right now. Thing was…virtually dying and then coming back to life tended to mess with one’s social life so Bucky was kind of lacking friends at the moment. He hadn’t dared contact anyone from his old life…his family, his unit…

“You alright there, Barnes?”

Bucky looked up at Frank whose couch he had been occupying for the past six months and nodded. Frank was a criminal. Credit card scams, elaborate heists, bodily harm, take your pick. As a cop, Bucky should have probably had a problem with that, except he really didn’t. He’d met Frank’s guys, they were sound. He’d also been tempted to help a few times himself. He hadn’t.

“I talked to a friend of mine,” Frank spoke up again, “Curtis. You should see him sometime.”

“’nother shrink?” Bucky asked doubtfully, he’d already been sent to his fair share of those.

“Nah,” the other man chuckled, “Vet. He does counselling down at the VA. Good guy.”

“I’ll think about it,” Bucky grumbled.

“That’s all I’m asking,” Frank replied and went back to cleaning his weapon at the kitchen table.

There were two short knocks at the door, which meant that the _Guys_ were there. Had it been Karen, it would have been three knocks. And Matt and Foggy…well…they generally didn’t come around because _reasons_. The _Guys_ however, were practically part of the interior. Micro (his real name was David but no one except Bucky knew that), Scott, Luis, Kurt, and Dave. They were Frank’s partners in crime and cared little for Bucky’s job just as Bucky cared little for theirs (if one could call it a job to rob rich-ass pricks of their falsely earned money. In Bucky’s book it was).

“JB! How’s it going, man? Still with the 5-oh?”

“You know I am, Scott,” Bucky answered without even sparing the guy a look. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Scott, he did, the guy was just a little too energetic for Bucky’s taste. “Speaking of which.” Bucky stood up from where he had been sitting at the table. “I got a shift tomorrow, so I’ll leave you guys to it.”

Ignoring the protest, Bucky made his way through the small flat, picked up his earphones and made himself comfortable on the couch to sleep.

* * *

Sometimes Bucky wondered how he was still alive. Or why.

Sometimes he wished he wasn’t.

Sometimes life was a huge, stinking, pile of shit.

He woke up to the sound of someone swearing very colourfully and he didn’t even have to open his eyes to know that it was Frank.

“Move your ass.”

“F’ck off, Castle,” Bucky muttered and tried to bury his head deeper in the pillows but the kick to his legs combined with the pressure on his bladder was incentive enough to get up.

“Got a job coming up,” Frank said apropos nothing as Bucky followed the call of nature, leaving the door to the toilet wide open.

“Don’t wanna know,” Bucky grumbled and went back into the main room to get himself his first dosage of caffeine and nicotine.

“Some rich bastard. We did the recon, no one needs that much money…guy’s got like five houses and apartments around the world. We’re gonna hit his place tonight if you wanna join.”

“Fucking hell, Frank, don’t tell me this shit.”

“What? You gonna arrest me?” Frank asked, barely containing his laugher while Bucky continued his smoke. He was right of course…no way in hell was Bucky going to arrest Frank. Or rat on him. He kinda owed the dude. And anyway…no one needed that much money.

“Fuck you,” Bucky replied like the very mature and well-adjusted adult he was.

Frank snorted into his coffee. “In your dreams, Barnes,” he shot back and the two men spend the next half hour sitting in companionable silence with the occasional insult thrown in.

“Gotta go, shithead,” Bucky announced when his phone said 6:30, “Some of us have an actual job.”

“You fucking hate your job,” Frank retorted.

“Not the point.”

And it wasn’t. Why Bucky didn’t just handed in his badge and his weapon to join Frank and the Gang, he didn’t know except he did because then he’d have to admit that he couldn’t do it. He’d admit that the undercover work had broken him. He’d admit defeat and let Them win. And Bucky Barnes never let anyone win but himself.

So, he left the apartment and made his way through the streets to the precinct where he arrived just on time to see Natasha throw a guy against the bars of the holding cells, muttering threatening words into his ear while Clint held a tissue to his bleeding nose.

“Morning.”

“Barnes.”

“Mo’nin’”

“Barnes!” The voice of captain Maria Hill cut through the general morning chaos of the precinct and when Bucky turned around to face her, he kind of wished he had just stayed at home. Frank’s home. Whatever. “My office, please.” Because there, next to the captain, stood no other than Nicholas Fury himself, the bane of Bucky’s existence.

Keeping his face carefully blank, Bucky crossed the room and entered the captain’s office, paying no mind whatsoever to Fury who scowled at him. There was already someone sitting inside. A man. A blond man. A big, blond man.

“Detective Barnes, take a seat,” Hill said and Bucky did as he was told, “This is detective Steven Grant Rogers, transferred from D.C. and your new partner. Detective Rogers, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Steven, in his all-American beauty, had the nerve to actually smile at Bucky, it was a nice smile, the kind of smile that shone bright and pure, it was the kind of smile that kind of destroyed Bucky’s intent to hate the guy.

“Call me Steve,” the blond introduced himself and held out his hand.

Bucky, for his part, eyed the limb suspiciously before taking it. “Bucky.”

“Perfect,” Hill spoke up again, “Now that the pleasantries are over, I have a case for you two.” Was that…concern he saw in the captain’s eyes? “A body was found in the East River this morning, we are still working on the identity but…everything we have so far indicates that the body is of Howard Stark.”

Bucky blinked. Then he blinked again.

_Fuck. My. Life._


	2. Chapter 2

Steve was a good cop. A goddamn professional. He’d dealt with more or less famous people enough to last him a life time, and yet…When he heard that Howard Stark, one of the five richest people of the world, founder of Stark Industries, and centre of several scandals over the years, was possibly dead? Well…even Steve had to work hard to keep that poker face in place.

Next to him, Steve could feel Barnes – Bucky – going very, very still.

“With all due respect, ma’am,” the brunet said carefully, “But is it really a good idea to set the newbie and the residential basket case on this?”

Steve frowned at the choice of words but remained silent, waiting for the captain to answer. She never did.

“Barnes.” Came Fury’s harsh voice from behind them, as the man stepped out of the corner Steve had totally forgotten he’d been standing in. “Detective Rogers is one of the best people D.C. had to offer, just as you were the best of the entire motherfucking NYPD.”

Something passed over Bucky’s face that Steve couldn’t decipher as his new partner replied, “Ahh, see! Past tense. I ain’t what I used to be thanks to that little mission you sent me on –”

“Enough,” Captain Hill cut in, “James, I trust you to handle this case with the amount if caution it requires and I trust you to instruct detective Rogers on how we work in this precinct. This is a sensitive case that we cannot afford to make mistakes in. We will keep the press off your backs as long as possible, and as soon as we have the victim’s identity confirmed without a doubt, we will inform Tony Stark –”

“What, you telling me, Tony doesn’t know yet?”

“- so you won’t have to worry about that,” Hill finished her sentence as if Bucky hadn’t tried to interrupt her. “Now, I have phone calls I need to make to keep you two out the spotlight. Dismissed.”

Bucky opened his mouth as if to argue but then seemed to think better of it, once he was met by Hill’s stern look, and instead he left the office without another word.

“Steve,” Hill addressed him, “I know you’re far from new to this kind of work but I need you to trust me and follow James’ lead on this one. Howard Stark was a figure of public interest and once this makes the news, the press will be coming down on you like vultures.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve answered and stood up himself, saluting to both his new captain and the chief, before following Bucky out the door.

* * *

“You seemed pretty keen on not getting this case,” Steve remarked when he’d sat down at his desk opposite from Bucky.

The brunet scoffed. “Noticed that, did ya?” he drawled, “You really musta been the pride of the DC police.”

Steve gave his new partner a dirty look but didn’t otherwise raise to the bait.

_Wow, mum would be so proud of me right now…_

“If you have a problem working this case with me,” he said instead, “I’d like to know so now, instead of getting any unpleasant surprised down the line.”

This time, it was Bucky’s turn to throw dirty looks. “Don’t worry, Rogers. I’ll work the damn case with you. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Which was fair, all things considered.

Steve had heard of James Buchanan Barnes of course; there weren’t a lot of people in the force who hadn’t…He was a bit of a legend, in a dark-and-and-dirty-we-don’t-talk-about-that kind of way.

See, the way the story went, Bucky had been royally screwed over by his superiors some five years ago. Prior to that, he’d been a poster boy cop and soldier – Purple Heart, Medal of Honor, the whole nine yards, broken every shooting record at the tender age of 18, leading his men into battle and never losing a single soul. And then something had happened. No one actually knew exactly what but it had ended in Bucky being disgracefully released of his badge and weapon and then no one had heard from him. Until now.

Rumour had it, he’d been sent deep underground to investigate some criminal organisation from the inside…

* * *

It didn’t take long for Jane Foster, the pathologist, to confirm that, yes, the body was in fact that of Howard Stark.

“Shot wound to the head,” she explained over the corpse as they all stood in the morgue, “He died instantly, and the killer removed the bullet afterwards. He’s been dead for a few days at least…Unfortunately, the water contaminated most evidence, however, I could find this.” Both Steve and Bucky leaned closer as Jane held up a photograph of something that looked like a coin.

“What’s that?” Steve asked, squinting at the object.

“German Reichspfennig,” Jane answered.

“Why would he have that?”

Jane shrugged. “No idea,” she answered, handing Bucky the photo, “And that’s your job to find out. Not mine. I found it in his pocket, together with his phone and wallet.”

“Thank you, Jane,” Bucky said, his face thoughtful.

Jane opened her mouth as if to say something, a deep crease between her eyebrows. “I feel sorry for Tony,” she said eventually, “I know he and his dad weren’t close but after Maria died…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Steve remained silent. He had no idea who Tony was but since he seemed to be working in the precinct as well, he was certain it would only be a matter of time until he found out.

Bucky didn’t say anything either, merely gave the slightest of nods while he slowly walked back to the door.

“Let us know if you find anything else,” Steve told Jane who smiled kindly.

“Rogers!” Came Bucky’s voice from the hallway and Steve felt no other choice but to follow.

“What do you think?” he asked once he had caught up with the brunet.

“About what?”

“The case.”

“Nothing yet,” Bucky grumbled, “We literally only just started. It’s too early to think anything.”

“Did you know Howard Stark?”

“Why the hell would I know him?” Bucky asked harshly.

“His son works here doesn’t he?”

“Tony,” Bucky confirmed, “Yeah.”

“We should talk to him.”

“Tony won’t know anything.”

Steve frowned, trying to keep up with Bucky’s pace. “Why not?” he asked, sidestepping a guy carrying a stack of files and papers.

“They weren’t close,” Bucky replied. He never moved out of anyone’s way, simply seemed to assume that people would do it for him. They did.

“You sound very sure.”

“I know Tony.” It sounded like there was more to it. A story Steve didn’t know.

“We should talk to him,” he said again.

Bucky sighed. “Fine.” Then, he burst through a set of doors, nearly knocking over a woman holding two steaming cups of coffee. Steve gave an apologetic smile and held the door open for her, when she was gone, he realised Bucky hadn’t even slowed down.

Once they’d reached their desks, Bucky entertained himself on his phone, not at all seeming bothered by the case at hand while Steve brooded over the very short file they had so far.

“Barnes.”

Steve looked up and saw a very attractive women with flaming red hair sit down on the edge of Bucky’s desk.

“Natasha.” Bucky gave a curt nod but didn’t look up from his phone.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Bucky sighed and slowly, very slowly, lowered the device in his hand, giving her a long-suffering look.

“Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff,” the brunet said as monotonously as humanly possible while giving the women, Natasha, a very unimpressed look.

“Your new partner,” Natasha noted. It wasn’t a question.

“My new partner.”

Natasha turned her head towards Steve and just…looked. It was extremely uncomfortable and Steve wondered if this was her interrogation technique. Just stare the suspects down until they broke. If it was, Steve was sure it was more than effective. Despite the discomfort Steve felt, he held his own, lifting his chin ever so slightly and schooling his face into a neutral expression. After half a minute or so, Natasha nodded, and for some reason, Steve felt like he had just passed some kind of test.

“Where’s Barton?” Bucky asked, once again engrossed in his phone.

“Got himself locked into the evidence room,” Natasha answered nonchalantly.

“You got the key?”

“Yep.”

Bucky nodded but said nothing and Steve wondered if coming to New York hadn’t been a huge mistake. He was just about to go back to the file before him, when Captain Hill’s office door flew open and a short man with a goatee stepped out, immediately walking towards them.

“Barnacle!”

“Stark,” Bucky grumbled without looking up and Steve was forced to take a closer look at the man. His hair was dark and he was smiling confidently, but there was also something familiar about him.

“Are you Tony Stark?” Steve asked and only then seemed the man to even notice Steve’s presence.

“The one and only.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Ehh.” Tony shrugged like he hadn’t just received the news of his father’s death, and across from Steve, Bucky let out a sigh.

“We have to speak to you once you feel comfortable with that,” he explained, looking past Natasha at Tony.

“How about now?” Tony suggested, making both Steve and Bucky frown while Natasha didn’t react at all.

“Are you sure about that?” Steve asked, “We can wait.”

“Why? You busy?”  
From the corner of his eye, Steve saw Bucky taking a deep breath before pushing his chair back and himself up. “Come with us, then,” he said.

Steve wanted to protest, he did, but he also remembered the Captain’s words.

_I need you to trust me and follow James’ lead on this one_

And well…he’d agreed, hadn’t he?

* * *

The interrogation room was small and cold. A single metal table with two chairs on either side stood in the middle of it and in the corner above the door was a security camera that Steve was pretty sure didn’t work.

“Alright,” Bucky started after they had sat down, “When was the last time you’ve talked to your father?”

“Six months?”

“That an answer or a question?” Bucky replied drily.

“It was six months ago,” Stark clarified, scratching his beard. “Right after Hill’s ceremony. He called me. It was weird.”  
“Why was it weird?” Steve chipped in, earning himself a disproving look from Bucky but he ignored in.

“Because he never calls me. Called me. Whatever,” Stark answered looking at Steve.

“So, you’re saying it was out of character for him to call you.”

“So, I’m saying it was out of character for him to call me,” Stark parroted, not even trying to hide the annoyance in his voice.

Before Steve could come up with something else to say, Bucky leaned forward, directing Stark’s attention back to him and asked, “What did you talk about?”

“He gave me the company; I gave it to Pepper.”

“Why?” the brunet pressed on.

“Why? Because I don’t want it.”

Bucky shook his head. “No, why did he give it to you?”

“Fuck, I don’t know?” the other man exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. “I was drunk. So was he, come to think of it.”  
Next to Steve, Bucky let out a barely audible sigh.

“Is there anything you do remember?”

Stark opened his mouth to answer and – hesitated. A deep crease formed between the man’s eyebrows and Steve could practically see the cogs behind his forehead turning and turning and –

“I’m sorry.”

“What was that?”

“I’m sorry,” Stark repeated, more clearly this time, “He apologized. Dad’s never apologized for a thing in his life.”

“Do you have any idea what he might have been apologising for?” Steve asked quickly before Bucky had the chance and Stark scoffed.

“You want that list alphabetically or chronologically?”

“Do you have any idea who might have wanted to hurt your father?”

This time, it was Bucky that scoffed.

“Half of New York?” Stark answered bitterly, “Dad’s pissed off a lot of people over the years.”

_Including you?_ Steve wanted to ask but refrained. He got the feeling that that might be a question that wouldn’t be met with understanding on anyone’s part and if Stark really was a suspect in this, Hill would have mentioned something. Hopefully. There were protocols in place for that kind of situation and Steve was pretty sure not even in the NYPD were detectives allowed to investigate their own co-workers.

Next to him, Bucky rustled with some papers and pulled out the photograph of the coin Jane had found on Howard. “Have you seen this before?”

Stark pulled the photo closer and frowned at it. “Where did you find this?”

“On your father’s body,” Bucky answered, “Do you know what it is?”

Stark looked up; his eyes wide. “It’s dad’s coin,” he said, “Don’t know where he got it from but he’s always had it and I wasn’t allowed to touch it.”

“Apparently it’s a German Reichspfenning. Any idea why your father would have that?” Stark shook his head but remained silent. “Alright, thank you. We’ll get back to you if we have more questions,” Bucky suddenly said and stood up.

Again, Steve wanted to protest. _I have more questions!_ But, again, he stopped himself and rather followed Bucky outside the room. Once he was sure that no one would see them, he grabbed Bucky’s arm a little tighter than strictly necessary and swivelled him around, pushing him up against the wall.

“What is your problem?” he hissed. Bucky, despite the tension in his shoulders and the fire flaring up behind his eyes, didn’t seem at all impressed by Steve’s hulking presence so close to him. “I told you earlier” Steve continued, “If you have a problem working this case with me, I’d like to know.”

“What? I’m working it with you, aren’t I?” Bucky replied, calmly as you please, completely ignoring the fact that Steve had pinned him to the wall. Steve got the distinct feeling that, if Bucky wanted to, it would take him all of one second to break free.

“You call this working with me?” Steve asked incredulously. “You barely let me get a word in.”

“I told you, Rogers,” his partner answered in a low, deep voice, leaning in ever so slightly, “Tony doesn’t know anything. This was a waste of time. So, you gonna let me do my fucking job or do I have to have to hold your hand and give you the Murder Investigation 101 talk?” Steve was momentarily rendered speechless and Bucky used that moment to do exactly what Steve had predicted a moment ago – with one swift, fluent movement that he hadn’t even registered, Steve suddenly found himself pressed face first into the hard concrete of the hallway wall, Bucky’s presence almost threatening behind his back. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s lunch time.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was late when Bucky returned to his apartment. Frank’s apartment. Whatever.

Not the 'the-day-is-almost-over-and-it’s-getting-dark'-kind of late, but more the 'I’ve-had-a-terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad-day-everyone-get-the-fuck-out-of-my-way'-kind.

They hadn’t learned anything new after lunch except that the coin Jane had found was apparently from the 19-fucking-20s which was so unhelpful that Bucky had simply elected to ignore that particular piece of information. Tomorrow, they were going to go to one of Howard Stark’s many residences and see if they could find anything relevant for the case.

It was late when Bucky returned to the apartment and of course the whole gang was there.

_Fucking figures_, he thought before remembering that they had a gig coming up tonight.

“Yo, JB, you sure you don’t wanna join us tonight?” Scott said as a way of greeting.

“Don’t tempt me,” Bucky answered, opening the fridge and finding nothing but an empty carton of milk and about 10 bottles of beer. He took one. Ignoring the sounds of protests, Bucky squeezed himself between Frank and Micro on the couch and took a swig of his beer.

“That bad?” Scott asked, offering him a slice of cold pizza which Bucky gratefully accepted.

“New case is a fucking shitshow,” he explained, “And don’t even get me started on my new partner.”

“What’s wrong with your partner?” Kurt asked.

“He’s _nice_,” Bucky answered with the same amount of distaste as someone who might say “he’s a Nazi”.

Next to him, Frank snorted and shook his head. “Only you, Barnes,” he muttered under his breath, “Only you…”

Not even dignifying that comment with a response, Bucky instead snatched the last slice of pizza, letting his thoughts return to his new partner.

Steven Grant Rogers.

He wasn’t sure what to make of him. Rogers wasn’t the kind of person you’d peg as a cop, let alone a New York City cop. He was too sincere, too bright, too fucking good and Bucky found himself worrying…he’d seen it before. The young and naïve, thinking they could make a difference; in the end they all turned bitter or died. Despite his harsh words earlier, and his general assholery towards the blond, he was worried about Rogers. About Steve.

Bucky’s hands moved of their own accord after he’d finished the second slice of pizza and lit a cigarette. He basked in the bitterness of the smoke filling his lungs and tried to shake off the tension of the day, completely not caring what the others were talking about.

Steven Grant Rogers.

He’d had a quick talk with Natasha throughout lunch while Steve had gone out to do whatever, counting on her to do overly thorough background checks on every person that entered the precinct. She hadn’t disappointed.

Steven Grant Rogers, born on the 4th of July, 1984, one year younger than Bucky, two tours in Afghanistan, two in Iraq, top of his class in the Academy and just all-around Captain fucking America. What a guy like that did in New York was pretty much anybody’s guess if you ignored the fact that he’d been born and raised in Brooklyn and…well…the city was gonna drag him down…she always did. For some unfathomable reason, Bucky felt that Steve deserved better.

It also didn’t help that Steve was hot and exactly Bucky’s type. Tall, blond, and unobtainable.

_Not to mention straight_, his brain added.

Letting out a long, deep groan, Bucky let his head fall back and his eyes close as he took another drag from his cigarette.

_Fuck. My. Life._

* * *

For once, Bucky had woken up to a completely empty apartment. Some part of him wondered if Frank was okay and he quickly shot him a text message before getting ready to go to work.

Steve was already there.

“Morning partner,” the blond greeted him overly chipper and Bucky responded in kind with the deadliest glare he could muster so early in the morning. (He had it on good authority that that was, in fact, very deadly.) Unfortunately, Steve didn’t seem at all affected by Bucky’s murder-glare and simply pushed over one of the coffee cups in front of him.

_Fucking nice…_

Taking his time, Bucky sipped his coffee and watched the general to and fro of the precinct. Darcy, the woman at the front desk, was idly chatting to Tony while painting her nails, Clint was swearing up a storm after getting scalding hot coffee all over himself, Natasha was laughing at her partner, filming the whole thing with the phone, Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins were bringing in two members of the outlaw MC Asgard, all four sporting black eyes and bloody lips, Karen Page was –

“Oh. Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, looking at him with deep concern but Bucky only shook his head.

“So much for, ‘we’ll keep the press of your backs’,” he mumbled, watching as Karen entered Hill’s office, her face set in mulish determination, a notebook and pen already in her hand. Sighing, Bucky drained the last of his coffee and stood up. “C’mon,” he said, “We better get moving. This is only gonna get worse now that the press got wind of it.”

“I don’t understand,” Steve said but did as Bucky had told him and they walked out of the building side by side.

“Karen Page,” Bucky explained, “Reporter of the New York Bulletin. Good one, too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

Any chance for Steve to say something else was cut off when they reached the car and Bucky got behind the wheel to get them to Howard Stark’s apartment.

* * *

Bucky had expected the call and when it came it didn’t take more than a few clipped words from Hill to make clear just how not off their backs the press was.

“We don’t know how they know but they do.” Had been the general content of the conversation, only with much more swearing on Hill’s part.

_Why did I ever even come back?_ Bucky wondered as he parked the car and both he and Steve got out to walk up to the door.

Stark’s apartment was…something else. Disgustingly rich was the first thing that came to mind as Bucky took in the spacious room they stood in. One room. Which was bigger than Frank’s entire apartment. The floor-to-ceiling windows gave way to a spectacular view over the city which Bucky might have appreciated in another life if he wasn’t so averse to heights.

“Uhm –”

_Yeah…there’s that too._

The detectives stood in the room which could be called a living room, or maybe a welcome-to-my-empire-look-at-all-the-shit-I-have room.

“Is it just me or does this look very empty.”

Except there was no shit.

“It’s empty, alright.”

Staying alert, Bucky moved through the apartment but it was the same in every room. Nothing. Or almost nothing. The valuable stuff was gone anyway.

_Oh. Oh._

“You think someone broke in?”

_Some rich dick. We did the recon, no one needs that much money…guy’s got like five houses and apartments around the world. We’re gonna hit his place tonight if you wanna join_

“All this stuff hardly walked itself out.”

_Oh. Oh._

“We need to call this in.”

_Oh. No._

Keeping his face completely blank, Bucky turned around to where Steve was standing in front of the window, admiring the view.

“No need,” he said.

“What? You know who did this?” Steve asked, his voice laced with sarcasm.

_Yes_, he thought.

“No,” he said, “But I might know someone who can find out.”

Upon hearing those words, Steve frowned, eyeing Bucky with deep suspicion. “We still need to call this in and look for evidence for the identity of the thief.”

“We can do that later,” Bucky replied, already walking back to the door, eager to get out of the apartment, “Whoever did this was a professional. They didn’t trip the alarm system, you think they were stupid enough to leave behind fingerprints?” Bucky was painfully aware of just how flawed that logic was but he was also a little preoccupied by the thought that Frank and the Guys might have stolen evidence in what was undoubtfully going to be one of the most publicly reported murder investigations of the last ten years.

“That’s not the point –”

“I know what your point is Rogers,” Bucky interrupted sharply, “But we don’t have time for this. Doing this the official way will take days. Days we don’t have. By the time forensics is through with this place and we got any kind of results, the shit they stole could be anywhere and it’s going to be useless to us. Plus, what do you think the press will do if they found out we let someone break in and steal half of Stark’s belongings?” It was a moot question because they both knew the answer to that but Bucky was glad he’d brought it up because Steve stopped in his tracks, looking deeply conflicted and mildly horrified. _Good enough_, Bucky decided. “My way is faster.”

* * *

Bucky’s way, meant they head to drive through the city for about half an hour before Bucky spotted what he’d been looking for. A shrill, flashy, and absolutely hideous ice cream truck.

Without another word, Bucky left the car, half hoping Steve would stay behind but not being surprised when he didn’t, and got in line behind a couple of kids debating whether they wanted chocolate or vanilla. In the end they settled on both.

“JB!” one of the owners of the truck, none other than Scott Lang, exclaimed, looking way too happy for someone who fucked up Bucky’s case.

“Lang.”

“Who’s the eye candy?” Scott asked, all but drooling over Steve in his too tight shirt and jeans that hugged his thighs in just the right way and –

_Concentrate, Barnes._

“Lang, this is my partner, detective Rogers. Rogers, Scott Lang.”

The introduction at least made Scott dial down the leering.

“Oh. Right. Of course. I have an alibi. I mean – what can I do for you detectives?” Scott stumbled over his words and own two feet, momentarily vanishing behind the counter and then popping up again, his face bright red.

“Someone stole vital evidence for a murder investigation last night,” Bucky explained, hoping Scott could control himself enough to not confess right then and there, “Naturally, we need it back. You know people. Get the word out that whatever used to belong to Howard Stark is to be returned to the apartment within the next 24 hours exactly the way it used to be and we’ll just forget this ever happened.”

_Come on_, _Scott_, Bucky mentally begged, _be the genius I know you secretly are_.

Scott blinked. And blinked again.

“Yes!” he cried out, “Of course! I will absolutely, totally do that.” Scott was nodding enthusiastically, his eyes wide as he was undoubtfully having a minor panic attack. “Detective Barnes,” he added as an afterthought and Bucky felt the strong desire to facepalm himself. He refrained but only just so and settled on giving Scott his most unimpressed face.

“Thank you, Scott,” he gritted out, “We appreciate it.”

Without waiting any further, Bucky turned around and shooed Steve back to the car but not before hearing Scott’s “Holy fucking mother of shit!” – he had serious questions about how the guy was still alive…

* * *

The drive back to the precinct was awkward to say the least.

“So…” Steve said after a few excruciating minutes.

“So?” Bucky prompted, his attention focused on the road and the traffic around him while still being painfully aware that Steve was staring at him.

“So,” the blond repeated, “I don’t mean to make any presumptions but I know for a fact that Scott Lang is an ex-convict who served three years in San Quentin State Prison and it wasn’t you who put him there.”

“So?” Bucky asked again even though he knew exactly what Steve was trying to get at.

His partner shrugged. “Guess I’m just trying to figure out how you know him.”

_None of your business_, Bucky wanted to say, except that would draw even more attention to the whole situation. “It’s never a bad idea to have ears and eyes on both sides of the law,” he answered instead.

Steve gave a non-committal hum but didn’t say anything else and Bucky was grateful. He was really not in the mood to deal with all this shit on top of everything else and, really,_ I should have just stayed in bed or maybe quit my job when I’d had the chance because when all this is over I’ll either be fired or so in the public eye that I won’t be able to take a piss without someone noticing or possibly even both and what the hell is doing that noise?_

Bucky blinked.

The noise didn’t stop.

“Your phone, Bucky.”

_Oh._

“What?”

“_James? This is Bruce Banner from forensics_,” the voice on the other end of the line said calmly and Bucky forced himself to take a deep breath. He liked Bruce. Bruce was nice. Bruce respected his privacy. Bruce never asked invasive questions.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “Do you have something for us?”

“_Possibly_.” Bucky could hear papers being shuffled around and the clicking sound of a keyboard. “_I manged to retrieve some data from Stark’s cell phone and he had a reminder for dinner with someone called Peggy around the time he died_.”

“Peggy,” Bucky repeated, “Okay. Anything else? Last name? Address? Phone number?”

“_Not yet, no_.” Bucky supress a sigh. “_But I do have the name of the restaurant_. _It’s called Shield – five stars, top recommendations, one meal costs more than my monthly salary, kind of deal._”

Bucky grimaced. He hated places like that. “You got the address?”

Bruce did. After a quick thank you, Bucky ended the call and made a not-quite-legal U-turn into oncoming traffic, completely ignoring Steve’s vociferous protests, as he started driving towards the restaurant.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve would have very much liked to slap Bucky at this point. Not only seemed the brunet to prefer intel of criminals to by-the-book investigations, but he had also just risked their lives with his reckless driving – all of it without offering a single explanation.

“What the hell, Barnes?!” Steve cried out, gripping onto his seat while Bucky sped through New York.

“Got a lead,” Bucky only grunted as if that would justify his behaviour, “Apparently Stark had a date with someone called Peggy in some posh restaurant called Shield.”

And, oh, Steve had so many things he wanted to say to that, most of which were filled with swearwords and insults but he decided to settle on an annoyed huff.

The restaurant in question looked impressive from the outside but that, Steve realised, was nothing compared to what it looked like from the inside. The ceilings were high and held up by massive white pillars with golden stripes that winded down in elegant circles, the walls were decorated with famous paintings and gold-framed mirrors, and the receptionist wore a suit that Steve couldn’t have afforded with a full year’s wages put together. Said receptionist was looking at them with a careful politeness as they approached but Steve could see him eyeing their clothes with disdain and suspicion.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a fake posh English accent.

“Detective Barnes and Rogers, NYPD,” Bucky said, flashing his badge and immediately the man’s demeanour changed, from wary and closed-off, to attentive and friendly.

“Of course.” The accent was gone, replaced by a familiar southern drawl. “Is there a problem?”

“You tell me, pal. We’re here because Howard Stark had a table reservation recently?” Bucky asked, raising his eyebrows expectantly and the receptionist nodded.

“Yes,” he said, opening the book in front of him, “Four days ago. He never came.”

Both detectives nodded. So, Stark had been dead for at least three days before he’d been found.

“And his date,” Steve inquired, “Was she here?”

“Yes.” The other man nodded and closed the book again. “Mrs. Carter seemed quite upset that Mr. Stark wasn’t here.”

_Carter_, Steve thought, _Peggy Carter. Why does sound so familiar?_

“Did Stark come here often?”

“Once a month. He and Mrs. Carter had a standing reservation for every first Monday of the month.”

They nodded again and Bucky thanked the receptionist for his help while Steve wrecked his brain over where he knew that name from.

_Peggy Carter._

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Bucky said next to him and Steve got the feeling that he must have said the name out loud. “Stark loved surrounding himself with important people.”

“You know her?”

“You _don’t_?”

“I –” Peggy Carter… “Hang on – Margaret Carter? Former director of the CIA?”

Bucky nodded. “Probably,” he said, getting back into the car.

Steve was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn’t even frown at Bucky pulling out of the parking space and nearly running over a bike. _Margaret Carter_. It offered even more questions than answers but at least it was something.

“- talking to Carter,” Bucky ended a sentence that Steve hadn’t heard the first half of.

“Sorry, what?”

The brunet blinked at the windshield, a sour expression on his face before letting out a sigh. “Let’s get lunch.”

* * *

Lunch was…weird.

Whereas the day before, Steve had gone out to meet up with his best friend Sam, who had followed him to New York from D.C., today, Bucky and he were sitting inside a mall, Bucky wolfing down a greasy burger while Steve had gone for falafel. Bucky was also engrossed in his phone. Again.

“Girlfriend?” Steve asked in what he hoped was a teasing manner.

Bucky stopped mid-chew and looked at Steve before simply shaking his head and continuing whatever it was, he was doing and Steve did his best to not let his frustration show. It was only the second day but somehow, Steve got the distinctive feeling that Bucky didn’t even _want_ to have a good relationship with him.

Mind racing, trying to think of something that could pierce through the stoic armour Bucky had wrapped himself in, Steve nibbled at his falafel, his eyes flickering to the man opposite him every so often, but nothing came to mind.

Steve sighed. So did Bucky.

“Alright, I bite,” the brunet announced, dropping the soggy remains of his burger.

“Huh?”

“I can’t ignore you like that. You’re practically vibrating out of your skin, so just…” He made a vague movement with his hand as if that would clear things up. It didn’t. “Say whatever you have to say.”

Steve very purposefully drank from his water, taking the time to choose his next words carefully, fully aware that he wouldn’t get a chance like this again any time soon.

“We’re partners,” he started, speaking slowly, “I like knowing my partners.” Bucky arched his eyebrows at him but said nothing. “I know nothing about you.”

Bucky shrugged. “Not much to know.”

“You were undercover until a few months ago,” Steve challenged him, hoping that he wasn’t pushing Bucky away even further. Judging by the dark chuckle from the other man, he wasn’t.

“Is that common knowledge now?” He asked, sounding almost amused.

“It’s one of the theories,” Steve answered, relaxing slightly.

“Well, it’s the truth,” Bucky replied. Steve noticed how he carefully let go of the tension in his shoulders as he sat back in his chair. “But I’m not gonna talk about that.”

“I wasn’t going to make you,” Steve reassured him, “But what about before? Did you have a partner, then?”

“Dum Dum.”

“Dum Dum,” Steve repeated drily, not sure if Bucky was being serious or not.

“Timothy Dugan,” the brunet elaborated, “We called him Dum Dum ‘cause he had shit for brains.” Except the way he said it sounded fond. Nostalgic.

“What happened to him?” Steve asked softly, almost scared to raise his voice.

Shrugging, Bucky picked up a cold fry. “The whole squad got separated when Philips left.”

“That was five years ago, though. Haven’t you talked to him since?”

Bucky levelled him with a flat look as he chewed. “What do you think?”

They sat in silence for a moment, Steve going through all the options he had to continue this conversation.

“I had a partner in D.C.” He decided on sharing something in return. “Kate. She was a good cop and a good friend.”

“Good for you,” Bucky said, his tone of voice unreadable. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Maybe we could be friends.”

There was something in Bucky’s eyes. Sadness? Regret? Steve couldn’t say but before he could take a closer look, it was gone, replaced by the by now familiar blankness and a hint of a scowl.

“You like your job, Rogers?” Bucky asked.

_Why?_ He wanted to ask, _don’t you?_

Instead, he nodded. “Of course.”

Bucky gave a nod of his own, a minute, barely-there thing, but Steve saw it nonetheless. “Then you better stay as far away from me as possible,” he said matter-of-factly, “We get through this case, I’ll put in a good word for you with Hill, if that’ll still meant anything then, that is, you get a new partner.”

Steve frowned. _I don’t understand._

“You’re talking as if this is gonna be your last case.”

The other man let out a mirthless, dark laugh, his eyes cold and empty as he shook his head.

“Eat up, Rogers,” he said, his voice betraying no emotions and Steve thought he might have gotten whiplash from the rapid change of topic, “We got shit to do.”

* * *

Margaret Carter lived in a small, yet homey apartment in Brooklyn together with her wife Angie Martinelli.

Both women, hair grey and faces wrinkled and yet stunningly beautiful, sat on the couch in the living room, two of their three cats perching on the backrest behind them while the third was currently rolled up in Bucky’s lap. It was an odd sight. Bucky, who Steve had only ever seen with his resting bitch-face firmly in place, was looking at the cat with something akin to softness, his hand gently scratching behind the small ears.

“She likes you,” Mrs. ‘please, do call me Peggy’ Carter observed, her hand cradling a cup of tea, “She never liked strangers.”

And now the lights had to be playing tricks on Steve’s mind because he could have sworn that was a blush on Bucky’s cheeks.

“Mrs. Carter,” Bucky started, ignoring the comment, and when he raised his face, his cheeks were as pale as ever.

“Peggy.”

“Peggy, right. You were supposed to meet Howard Stark for dinner four days ago.”

“That is correct.”

“But he never showed?” Peggy shook her head, taking a sip from her tea. “When’s the last time you spoke to him?”

“That must have been last month,” the older women replied, “We have a standing reservation at Shield for every first Monday of the month, but apart from that we don’t talk much.”

Bucky nodded and Steve quickly jumped in with a question of his own. “And last month,” he inquired, “Did he mention anything out of the ordinary?”

Peggy giggled, giving Steve a look that could almost be counted as pitying, “My dear boy, Howard Stark never talked about anything ordinary.”

“What did you talk about?”

“I forget. Howard was working on some new project, I think. Oh, and he talked about getting dinner with Chester.”

“Chester,” Bucky repeated, suddenly seeming on high alert, “Chester Philips?”

“Why, yes,” Peggy answered, her brown eyes locked on Bucky, “They used to be good friends. We all were.”

“Do you know other friends of him?” Steve asked, “Someone who might have seen him within the past month?”

It took Peggy a long moment to answer but when she did, her eyes were sad. “No. Howard wasn’t one to keep his friends close. Or his son for that matter. Not after his wife’s death.”

“Peggy,” Bucky spoke up again, carefully shifting the cat in his lap to pull out the photograph of the coin, “Have you ever seen this before?”

Leaning forward to take the photo, Peggy set down the cup of tea on the coffee table in front of her and squinted at the paper.

“Angie, darling, would you mind fetching me my glasses?”

“Of course, my dear.” Angie stood up and hurried out of the room only to come back moments later with a pair of glasses in her hand. “There you go.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Peggy muttered absent minded, her whole attention on the photo. “You found this on Howard?” she asked, glancing up at the two men over the rims of her glasses.

“Yes, ma’am.” Steve nodded.

“I see,” Peggy murmured, lowering her gaze once again. “I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

“That’s quite alright, ma’am.” Next to him, Bucky let out a barely audible snort. “Thank you for your time.”

“Not at all.” Peggy smiled at him, sweet and loving but there was something lurking behind her eyes, something that made Steve think that maybe, just maybe, this old lady knew far more then she was letting on.

Despite Steve’s suspicion, a suspicion that he and Bucky shared, Steve was sure, they bid their farewells and made their way back to the station to take stock of what they had so far.


	5. Chapter 5

One week after Howard’s body had been found, they were still no closer to solving the case than on that first day, except now every journalist and reporter of the city was watching and judging every breath they took. Luckily, Karen hadn’t tried to take advantage of her position as Frank’s whatever they were and left him alone, a small mercy in the grand scheme of things.

Bucky had sent Steve to talk to Chester Philips on his own – cowardly? Maybe. But it had eased some of the excruciating anxiety in Bucky, knowing he wouldn’t have to face his old captain any sooner than necessary.

The stolen objects had magically returned over night, but were just another dead end. Bucky had still given an angry lecture to Frank and the Guys, if only to make himself feel better.

Now, it was his day off, Bucky was enjoying his 10 a.m. beer and a cigarette on the couch with Frank wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, lazily watching the Simpsons, when someone knocked at the door.

“Barnes.”

“Your apartment, your door, pal.”

“Fuck you,” Frank shot back but stood up nonetheless to see who was at the door.

“Erm,” came a painfully familiar voice from the hallway, “I’m looking for Bucky Barnes.”

Swearing under his breath, Bucky got up from the couch and, yep, that sure as hell was Steve Rogers standing there, looking pristine as ever despite the early hour.

“How’d you find me?” Bucky asked, stepping next to Frank, beer and cig still securely in his hands and completely ignoring Steve’s frown which made him realise how much he wasn’t wearing.

“Darcy is very easily distracted,” came the answer and Bucky had to fight back another string of curses.

“What’d you want?”

“I found something.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Bucky stepped aside. “Come in,” he said, then, “Frank, scram.”

“This is my apartment, Barnes,” Frank protested.

“Well, lucky you, now get lost.”

Grumbling unhappily Frank walked into the bedroom, got dressed, and then walked outside but not without giving Bucky a deathly scowl.

“Well?” Bucky prompted once the door had slammed shut, falling back onto the sofa and taking one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out. He could see Steve looking around with a mixture of disgust and curiosity but decided he couldn’t care less about what the blond thought.

“I found something,” Steve repeated.

“So you said.”

“You lied to me.”

“Did I?”

Huffing angrily, Steve sat down on one of the wobbly chairs at the kitchen table, fixing Bucky with a determined look. “I did some digging. Turns out you’re on a first name basis with half of the low-lives of the city.”

_Those low-lives helped me more than anyone else did_, Bucky didn’t say, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Your point?”

“You’re a fucking cop, Barnes,” Steve snarled, “You shouldn’t live with people like Frank goddamn Castle.”

Setting his beer down a little bit harder than strictly necessary, Bucky leaned forward, meeting Steve’s eyes head on. “Hate to break to you, Rogers, but things work a little different here than in D.C. Every cop has some connection to something that they probably shouldn’t. Natasha? Daughter of the fucking Russian mob boss. Clint? Irish mob, his brother is in and out of prison every other year. Rumlow and Rollins? Slept with every whore from here to New Jersey and take bribes left and right if they feel like it. That’s how it is. That’s how it’s always been.” Bucky pointedly ignored the small voice in the back of his head, telling him that that wasn’t true. That he and his Howling Commandos would have never let anything like that happen. That they’d been true to the law and their morals. That –

“You said you didn’t know who stole Stark’s stuff,” Steve interrupted Bucky’s train of thought, not at all seeming impressed by the things Bucky had just said, “But you did, didn’t you? I watched every security footage in a mile’s radius after everything was back and I saw Scott’s face, clear as day, climbing over the roofs.”

_Fucking hell, Lang…_

Bucky sighed, letting his head hang between his shoulders for a moment before straightening up and lightening another smoke.

“Look, Steve,” he began, ignoring the bone-deep tiredness he felt, “You can report me to Hill, I don’t really give a shit, but _after_ we dealt with this case, okay?”

Steve blinked, seeming surprised. “I wasn’t gonna report you.”

“Then why the hell did you bring it up?” Bucky asked exasperated.

“You lied to me.”

“Yes, you keep saying that. What’d ya want to me say? I’m sorry? I’m not.” Both men stared at each other for a long minute, smoke curling through the air between them. In the end, it was Bucky who gave in first, taking a drag and reaching for his beer on the table. “You said you found something.”

“Yes.”

“Care to elaborate?” Taking a deep breath, Steve started rummaging through his bag, pulling out an old, dusty file and tossing it into Bucky’s lap. “What’s this?”

“Read it,” Steve answered, nodding at the file.

Huffing out a breath, Bucky emptied his beer, set down the bottle, held the cigarette between his lips, and opened the file, the first thing he noticed was the date.

“This is from 1968,” he remarked, looking at Steve who only nodded but said nothing, so Bucky began to read. “Abraham Erskine, 13 years, found in East River, cause of death: blunt head trauma, several superficial injuries, blah blah blah, no suspects – So?” Bucky closed the file, looking at Steve expectantly. “Some kid hit his dead 50 years ago and died, what’s that to do with us? Scratch that, how’d you even find this thing?”

“Something bothered me,” Steve began to explain, rubbing the back of his neck, “Both Peggy and Philips knew more than they were saying, so I tried to find out who else belonged to that friend group. Most of the names were familiar. Chief Fury, Senator Pierce, Obadiah Stane, Judge Schmidt…there were others but that doesn’t matter now. They were all friends, went to the same school and everything. Same school as Abraham Erskine by the way. Obviously, I didn’t know that then, but reading those names reminded me of a picture I saw when we went through Stark’s personal belongings.” Again, Steve’s hand vanished in the depths of his bag, this time retrieving something that looked like a diary, or maybe a journal. Probably a journal. Steve opened the little notebook and handed it to Bucky and there, on the inside of the cover, was a photograph, old and battered but the faces still clear, forever young and smiling at the camera. There was Stark, not older than 16, handsome and confident, a leather jacket draped around his shoulders and a cigarette dangling from his lips, next to him Bucky could see other familiar faces. Fury, Pierce, Schmidt, Philips, Zola, Stane, his dad –

_Wait, what?_

_Focus, Barnes._

Bucky shook his head, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from his father who looked so much like Bucky had when he’d been younger, a fierce pain tugging at his heart at the reminder that he’d never see his father again.

There, in front of everyone, young, so much younger than everyone else, was Abraham Erskine.

“The kid was friends with Stark?” Bucky asked finally, stubbing out the smoke and repressing the impulse to light another one. _This case is gonna be the death of me…_

“It looks like it.” Steve nodded. “I read some of the journal entries and he never goes into detail but he does speak of ‘the thing’ and ‘that night’, and that got me thinking…what if they were somehow involved in Abraham’s death? The investigating detective was Herbert Schmidt, Johann Schmidt’s father, it would have been easy for him to cover it up, protect his son. If you look closer at the file, you’ll find a shocking amount of contradictions. Inconsistencies. Things that didn’t add up. Things that were left out. Schmidt didn’t even try to solve it. And he got away with it. Now, Hill promised to digitalize all the old files and re-open some of the cold cases and…what if Stark got cold feet? In his journal he keeps talking about guilt and mistakes and how he should have done something…what if he panicked, thinking that someone would figure it out and then one of the others killed him to keep him from talking?”

Bucky blinked. And blinked again.

Slowly, he wetted his lips, trying to choose his next words carefully. “I can’t figure out whether that’s the most ridiculous or most brilliant theory I’ve ever heard.”

_Trying being the operative term here_, he thought.

Steve let out a frustrated groan. “Look,” he began, leaning forward, his lips pressed into a thin line, “You don’t have to believe me –”

“I never said I didn’t believe you,” Bucky interrupted quickly, making Steve pause.

“You didn’t?” the blond asked before seeming to get a hold of himself and repeating with far more confidence, “I mean yeah, you didn’t.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I didn’t,” he repeated just to be a little shit. “It is a little far-fetched, though…”

“So what?” Steve snapped, his walls shooting up again faster than Bucky could blink. “You just want to let them get away with it. Again.”

“Fuck you, Rogers.” Bucky bristled, glaring at the other man, trying to make him understand. “This isn’t middle school where you rat on the bully for picking on some kid. This is some of the most influential people of the city; you ask the wrong question to the wrong person, they will have you removed and they’re gonna make your life hell.”

Steve looked momentarily floored, his mouth slack and eyes wide but Bucky knew him well enough by now that he wasn’t at all surprised when the blond’s expression turned mulish.

“So, you’ll do nothing,” he concluded, as if Bucky hadn’t just explained the risks, as if he had nothing to lose, as if it was his job personally to right all the wrongs in the world.

“Fuck’s sake.” Bucky pinged the bridge of his nose. “Alright,” he pressed out, making sure to have Steve’s undivided attention before continuing, “But we’ll do it my way.”

* * *

Bucky’s way consisted of having another chat with Philips, and as much as Bucky really didn’t want to, it was him ringing his old captain’s doorbell that evening while Steve was out and about “meeting with a friend” as he’d called it.

“James.” In front of Bucky stood Chester Philips, old but strong, his forehead permanently creased from dealing with the Howling Commandoes for so many years.

“Hello, captain.”

Philips didn’t even try to hide the amazement of seeing Bucky again and his eyes roamed over his appearance. The long hair, the admittedly shabby clothes, the undeniably tired look in his eyes. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

Bucky shrugged. “Never thought I’d come back.”

He followed the older man inside. The apartment looked the same – old medals and documents and pictures hanging on the walls, an impressive book collection, the coffee table littered with empty mugs and crosswords puzzles.

“What are you doing here?” Philips asked and sat down on the sofa while Bucky grabbed a chair, flung it around, and sat down on it with spread legs, arms resting on the back of it.

“My partner was here a few days ago,” Bucky said, “Rogers? Blond, big, apple pie smile? Asked questions about Howard Stark?” Philips nodded. “I’m gonna ask you the same questions, only this time you’re gonna give me some real answers.”

Carefully watching Philips, Bucky noticed the slight shift in his posture, the minute tension in his shoulders, the twitch in his lips.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Cut the crap, _Chester_,” Bucky snapped and if Philips was affected by the blatant disrespect, he didn’t show it, “We found the old file on Abraham Erskine. Now, personally, I don’t give a shit if you guys killed the kid in cold blood. My partner, though? He’s not gonna stop until he has the full story.”

Bucky gave the other man a moment to let those words sink in and then simply waited. Silence was a powerful tool and if Bucky was good at something, it certainly was keeping his trap shut.

“It was an accident,” said Philips eventually letting out a sigh, his whole body sagging in on itself. “I was barely 18. We were young and stupid. Johann. Johann Schmidt. He was the oldest, maybe 19. 20. There was an empty warehouse at the docks where we met up every weekend to break stuff and get drunk.” He shook his head, eyes clouded with memories. “Abraham was my neighbour. He looked up to me. To all of us. He was younger than us but always tried to tag along. That night…he wasn’t even supposed to be there but he must have snuck out and followed me because one moment everything was fine and the next, he was there and Johann was making him drink, laughing at him when he spat it out. I’m not sure how it happened. We were all drunk, Abraham too, and then someone, I think it was Johann, dared Abraham to climb the beams. He fell, died instantly and we panicked. Johann called his father who told us that he’d take care of it. Told us to never speak of what happened, to never come to the warehouse again. A few days later, they found Abraham in the river.” There was shame in Philips’ eyes, sorrow.

Bucky nodded slowly. He wanted to ask about his dad but knew that it wouldn’t do anyone any good, so he refrained.

“And Stark?” he asked instead.

“He was there too,” Philips answered.

“Any chance he mighta gotten cold feet? Threaten to tell someone what happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, Philips,” Bucky urged, rubbing a hand over his face, “Give me something. You were probably the last person to see him alive, what’d he say?”

“He was worried about something,” Philips admitted, “But he wouldn’t say what.”

Bucky groaned, frustration finally taking over. “Well, that’s not helpful at all.”

Surprisingly, Philips smiled. “I said he wouldn’t talk about it, not that I don’t know.”

Bucky froze. “Well,” he said, “Care to elaborate?”

Growing serious again, Philips fixed him with a heavy stare. “Have you ever heard of Hydra?”

It was like being hit by a freight train, all the air knocked out of Bucky’s lungs, a cold shudder running down his spine, making him shiver, his arm aching with an injury long since healed.

“What do you know about Hydra?” he all but growled, leaning forward as far as the back of the chair allowed.

“That’s where they sent you, isn’t it?” And even though it was phrased like a question, Bucky knew it wasn’t. Somehow, Philips knew about Bucky’s years undercover.

“Yeah,” the brunet grit out, voice rough, and Philips nodded. “What does that have to with Stark?”

The old captain stood up, walked into the kitchen and returned moments later with a bottle of whisky and two glasses, pouring one for each of them. “After your partner was here, I talked to Peggy Carter,” Philips explained, handing one glass to Bucky who knocked it back without hesitation. “The CIA’s been trying to take them down for a long time but every time they got anywhere near close to them, Hydra changed strategies, became more careful. Peggy thinks that, by now, they’ve infiltrated most higher positions in the world but…I probably don’t need to tell you that.” _No, you don’t_, Buck thought. He was intimately familiar with the compartmentalization of Hydra. No one knew everything, people got orders, they followed them, they didn’t ask questions. You caught one of them, two more popped up in the same place and they never had anything valuable in terms of information. For all Bucky knew, the head of Hydra could be an Egyptian cleaning lady, a Polish maths teacher, or the President of the United States himself. “Peggy’s niece’s been working on the case for some time now, I don’t know the details but she seems to think that Hydra was somehow involved in Stark’s death.”

“Fuck.”


	6. Chapter 6

Steve was at Sam’s when he got the call.

_Bucky._

“Sorry, I need to take this,” he told his friend while he went into the kitchen to answer the phone.

“Hey,” he greeted his partner, “How’d it go?”

“_We have a problem_,” Bucky growled and Steve could hear the rumbling of an engine on the other side of the line.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, unable to keep the concern out of his voice.

“_Me?_” Bucky replied darkly, “_I’m fucking peachy. ‘m also not in the mood to discuss this on the phone. Where can we meet?_”

Steve, by now more than used to Bucky’s constantly sour mood, suppressed a sigh and glanced towards the living room where Sam was currently sitting on the sofa, tapping away on his phone. He told Bucky the address.

“_That your place?_”

“My friend’s.” The answering silence was almost deafening and said more than words ever could, so Steve quickly added, “I trust him.”

“_Fine. Be there in 15_.”

Before Steve could say anything else, the line went dead and this time Steve did sigh.

“That was my partner,” he told Sam when he went back into the living room. His friend lowered his phone, looking at Steve. “Something happened. I told him to come here.”

“Sure.” Sam shrugged. “Want me to order some pizza?”

“Thanks, Sam.”

* * *

15 minutes later both the pizza and Bucky arrived, the latter with such a thunderous expression that Steve immediately knew that ‘problem’ had rather been a synonym for ‘world-ending crisis’.

“Hey man, I’m Sam.”

“And I really don’t care,” Bucky grumbled, pushing past Sam into the apartment, “Rogers.”

Steve threw an apologetic look towards Sam before turning to Bucky.

“What happened?”

“Doesn’t matter what happened. Here’s what’s gonna happen: You’re gonna drop this case. Now.”

“What? Why?” Steve sputtered, staring at Bucky who glared right back, his eyes murderous but…there was something else, too, something lurking deep behind Bucky’s eyes, something wild and raw, something like fear. Those eyes were now flickering towards Sam and it only showed just how well Steve knew Bucky by now that he also knew exactly what was going through his head. “Sam’s not going anywhere,” Steve said firmly, “I trust him.”

_I don’t_ – Bucky’s unspoken words hung in the air between them, invisible but Steve knew they were there. He understood Bucky’s paranoia, his need to always look over his shoulders and keep everyone at a distance, god only knew what that man had been through in the last few years, but this was _Sam_ – Steve’s best friend and the man he’d trust with everything. Some of his thoughts must have showed on his face, or maybe Bucky was just too tired to argue because he simply gave a curt nod before answering.

“Hydra.”

Steve shuddered at the unfamiliar word, the way Bucky had said it…with trepidation and hatred, his eyes cold and unforgiving.

“What’s Hydra?” Steve asked even though some part of him really didn’t want to know the answer.

Bucky huffed, his shoulders a tense line. “Terrorism,” he answered, “Weapons. Drugs. Human trafficking. You name it.” Steve watched him taking a deep breath, long, dark hair falling into his face. “I spent five fucking years of my fucking life trying to find something on them. I did shit you couldn’t even imagine. They took everything from me and guess what I got in return? Shitload’a nothin’. They’re everywhere. Every godforsaken government, company, and law enforcement all over the world – hell! For all I know you could be one of ‘em –”

“Excuse me?!”

“My point is, Steve, this is so much bigger than you or I could handle. You go against them, you’ll die.”

_Why do you care?_ The question was there, on the tip of his tongue, but something told him that it was the wrong thing to say. Bucky might be a jerk and he might be paranoid and cranky and unapproachable but he still cared. And really, the why didn’t matter. Bucky cared. Period. Steve was okay with that.

“Not if we’re being smart about it,” he replied instead.

“Smart?” Bucky repeated, disbelief in his voice, “Steve, the smart thing here is to let this go.”

“Gotta say I agree with him, Steve,” Sam chipped in from the side-lines but both Steve and Bucky ignored him.

“You said they took everything from you,” Steve tried, “You said you spent five years trying to take them down. Don’t you want to get that back? Make them pay for what they did. Make sure no one else has to suffer because of them?” It was a low blow; Steve was well aware of that, but he pushed that aside in favour of trying to get Bucky on his side for this one. “You know people, Bucky. It’s not just you and me. Scott, Frank, the others of that group, people in the precinct that you trust, your old squad. You have friends. I’m sure if you just asked them, they’d be more than happy to help. I know I am. Sam is.”

“I am?”

“You are.”

Steve’s eyes never wavered from Bucky’s that still stared at him, hard and piecing, but there was a new kind of appreciation, a sense of wonder, behind the icy blue.

“You’re not really Captain America, are you?” the brunet muttered, making Steve pause.

“What?”

“You,” Bucky emphasised, making a vague motion with his hand towards Steve’s body, “You pretend to be all nice and proper but you’re actually a little shit.”

If he had wanted to, Steve couldn’t have stopped the grin on his face, and it seemed, neither could Bucky.

“I am whatever I need to be,” Steve told his partner, “So, you in, or what?”

Bucky slowly composed his face but the look in his eyes stayed as he sighed and rand a hand over his face. “Ah, fuck it,” he muttered, “Can’t get much worse ‘an this.”

It was a victory, Steve found.

* * *

It was getting late but they’d still decided to pay a visit to Peggy Carter to make sure they had all the information before they started making a plan.

It was Angie that opened the door for them, genuine surprise on her face when she saw who it was. “Detectives,” she greeted them, “It’s quite late.”

“Apologies, ma’am,” Steve said, “But this is urgent.”

“Well then, come in.” Angie stepped aside and the two men entered the apartment. “Peggy, dear, it’s the detectives!”

“Send them through!” Peggy answered from inside and her wife waved at them to go.

Peggy was sitting in the same spot as she had at their last visit, one of the cats in her lap, purring happily. She wasn’t alone.

“Kate?” Steve looked at the blonde woman opposite from Peggy, his old partner and friend.

“Hello, Steve.”

“What –”

“Detectives,” Peggy spoke up, smiling mischievously, “Meet my niece, Sharon Carter.”

“Sorry, Steve,” Kate – Sharon – said.

Next to him, Bucky chuckled. “Good friend, huh?” he muttered.

“Shut up,” Steve shot back but there was no heat behind his words.

“I expected you to come by sooner,” Peggy said conversationally. “Sit down.”

They did. The living room was a bit cramped with five people and three cats (the cats taking up most of the space, somehow) but they managed and soon enough, they’d let Peggy in on everything they’d found so far.

“Yes,” the older woman said, nodding her head, “I knew about Abraham. Poor boy. That coin you found was his, passed down through the family. Howard kept it as a reminder of what had happened. He felt guilty. He was only 15 at the time and it had taken him decades to tell me about it.”

“And Hydra?” Steve asked from where he was pressed between Bucky and Sharon on the sofa, each with a cat on their legs.

“I’m not sure about that connection,” Peggy answered, taking a sip from her tea that Angie had brought her, “But I do know that they are involved somehow.”

“How?” Bucky asked not unkindly.

It was Sharon that answered, “Obadiah Stane. We know he’s one of them, even if we can’t prove it. One of the men we’ve caught – thanks to you, James, by the way – had documents with Stane’s signature on them. Money for accommodation. It’s not much but it’s something.”

“So…” Steve blinked, trying to connect the dots. “Stark Industries? Stane’s on the board, right?” Both Sharon and Bucky nodded. “Did Stark now about that?”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Peggy said, a frown on her lips. “But Chester told me that he was deeply concerned about something the last time they spoke. Restless in a way that was uncharacteristic even for Howard. It doesn’t take a lot to come to the conclusion that he must have at least suspected something.”

_Yeah_, Steve thought, _he must have_.

“So, what now?” he asked, looking at the others.

“Well,” Bucky began, side-eyeing him while patting the cat, “We’re not gonna go in gun’s blazing, that’s for sure.”

“I didn’t think we would,” Steve grumbled while Sharon giggled next to him, “What? What’s so funny?”

Sharon, still giggling, shook her head. “You’ve only known each for a week,” she said, “And he’s already figured you out.”

Heat rose in his cheeks and Steve did his best to fight it. He knew Sharon was right, despite the rocky start and shaky middle, Bucky seemed to have a good grasp on what kind of person Steve was, knew exactly how his mind worked and where his buttons were. Steve found that he really didn’t mind all that much.

“Ahem.” Peggy cleared her throat, giving Steve a pointed look. “Be that as it may, James is right. You cannot charge without a plan or a team.” Her eyes turned to Bucky. “James,” she said, smiling slightly, “You might be the person to know them best, is there anything you know that could help us?”

For a long moment, Bucky was quiet. Then, “No,” he answered, shaking his head, “They’re good. Smart. It’s all on a need-to-know basis and most people don’t need to know anything. I spent over a year doing jobs for ‘em without even seeing the faces of the people that gave the orders, let alone have their names. You don’t need ‘em. You get a text or a letter or an email or a call. You do the job. You get the money. Sometimes cash, sometimes transfer. There’s no pattern. Once I moved past that I tried to collect as much as I could but…” Again, he shook his head, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “What I know won’t help us, but…”

“James?” Peggy prompted softly after a moment of silence.

“Are you sure this is Hydra?” he asked. It was clear that it wasn’t doubt per se that drove the question, but more the desire to have one last confirmation.

“Yes.”

Bucky nodded, his face setting into something fierce and determined. “Then we have more than ever before,” he announced, sitting up a little straighter, “All we need to do is connect Howard to Hydra. Find out who killed him and why. They made a mistake in killing him, dumping the body in the river instead of hiding it or storing it somewhere…this wasn’t a planned hit, it’s too sloppy for that. Hydra doesn’t leave bodies unless they want to leave a message but there’s no message here, unless…”

“Unless what?”

“We might need to talk to Tony again?”

“Howard’s son?” Sharon asked, the same time, Steve said, “I thought Tony doesn’t know anything?”

“Yeah, Anthony Stark,” Bucky said to Sharon before shrugging at Steve. “He might not know he knows it.” Which…didn’t really make sense but Steve decided to ignore that for now.

“And who would you trust with this?” Peggy asked, “Because you’re going to need people and as much as I’d like to, those days for me have passed.”

There it was, the 1-million-dollar question.

Steve glanced at Bucky, hoping to find some kind of answer, only to see deeply creased eyebrows and even deeper uncertainty.

“My friend Sam,” he said which Sharon seemed to approve of if her nod was anything to go by. “Bucky, in the precinct, is there anyone you trust without a doubt? Rumlow? Rollins? Romanoff? Barton?”

Bucky looked at him, still frowning and Steve found himself missing the smile from earlier. “No to the first two,” the brunet answered, “Natasha and Clint? Maybe. Their loyalties lie with their families…depends on how involved Hydra is with the mobs.”

“Not much,” Sharon supplied, “Their rivals if they’re even aware of each other.”

“Then yes, Nat and Clint are crazy enough to help us with this. I have other friends, civilians-ish, they’re good people. Mostly anyway. Definitely not with Hydra.”

“Very well,” Peggy said and it sounded like a conclusion, like this conversation was over, like she was about to bid them good night. One look at the clock revealed that it was nearly 10 p.m. and the rumble in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since the pizza at Sam’s.

“Thank you, Peggy,” he said, carefully standing up from the couch.

“Not at all, Steve. I’m happy that we finally have a chance to do something about this. Just one more thing: be careful.” The urgency in her voice surprised Steve, but then again, she probably knew better than him what they were getting into.

“I will,” he promised.

* * *

Outside, the air was chilly, between Bucky and Steve, slightly awkward. Something had changed back in Sam’s apartment, a shift from reluctant companionship to genuine curiosity. And Bucky cared. That fact in particular sparked something in Steve that he couldn’t quite name yet, something bright and warm.

“You hungry?” Steve asked as they got into the car. Steve had left his bike at Sam’s; he could come and get it in the morning.

“It’s late.” Even Bucky’s tone of voice was different. Still grumpy but less hostile.

“So?” Steve countered, “You on a diet where you can’t eat past 7?” Bucky snorted, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and Steve couldn’t help the surge of pride. He did that. He’d almost made Bucky smile. “Come on,” he tried again, “Let’s go to my place, it’s closest, and get some Chinese or something. You can even stay the night; I have a guest room”

“How generous of you, Rogers,” Bucky bit back, that half-smile firmly in place while his eyes creased with amusement.

“Yeah, I’m nice like that.”

“You’re somethin’ alright,” Bucky grumbled, signalling a turn.

Steve watched as the city lights passed him by and the fresh night air rushed in through the crack in the window.

“You don’t have to,” he said eventually, keeping his voice low as to not break the spell between them, “Come with me I mean. Or stay the night.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Bucky shrugged him off, “It’ll probably beat Frank’s sofa.”

_Hang on –_

“You sleep on the sofa?” Steve asked alarmed.

Bucky threw him a questioning look. “Yeah,” he answered as if it had been obvious. It hadn’t been. “Where’d you think I sleep? The place is tiny and there’s only the one bedroom. I know for a fact you’re not that unobservant.”

“I just…” Steve began, blushing deeply and cursing himself for being so awkward sometimes, “I just kind of…assumed…that he was your boyfriend or something.”

Again, Bucky snorted, the half-smile slowly merging into a full one that brightened his whole face and made the night seem less dark, less cold.

“Why the hell’d you think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ‘cause you were both in your underwear this morning?” Steve shot back and Bucky laughed.

“It was ten in the morning on my day off. People don’t wear clothes on ten in the morning on their days off.”

“I do.”

“Weirdo,” the other man said, shaking his head “But no, Frank’s not my boyfriend. Apart from the fact that Frank has this…thing…with Karen and Matt, he’s really not my type.”

_Don’t go there, Rogers. Don’t fucking ask._

“No? What’s your type, then?”

_Damnit._

“Why?” Bucky shot back, and even though his eyes were fixed on the road, Steve was certain that the brunet’s attention was solely on him. On Steve. “You interested?”

And, okay, this was getting into Very Dangerous Territory – _retreat! Retreat!_

But Steve wouldn’t be Steve if he ever backed down from a challenge.

“You offering?”

That godman smile was turning into a smirk now, dark and dirty, full of promises and premonition and Steve _wanted_. He wanted so much it ached, all the tension of the last few hours giving way to desire.

“Maybe I am.” Bucky’s voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it cut through the air like a hot knife through butter, cut into Steve like lightning striking something buried deep inside him and making him throw all caution in the wind.

The rest of the drive was torture and when they finally did arrive at Steve’s apartment, they stumbled out of the lift, unseeing, limbs entangled and breaths hot against each other. Steve would have loved to be able to say that he wasn’t the one who had started it but the truth was, he didn’t know. They’d stood facing each other one second and then pressed against each other the next, hands roaming over and under shirts, tugging on hair, and gripping tight on muscles and flesh.

“This is such a bad idea,” Steve panted into Bucky’s shoulder while he tried to find the right key.

“You want to stop?”

“God, no.”

Only years of having to find his way to the bedroom in the dark kept him from steering Bucky into the bookshelf or the doorframe or the chest of drawers as they rushed through the apartment towards the bed.

* * *

“You still want me to take the guest room?” Bucky asked.

They were both sticky and sweaty and very much very naked, lying next to each other on Steve’s sheets, catching their breaths. To answer Steve’s question, he gave Bucky a playful shove, before pulling him close again and resting his head on the brunet’s chest.

“I’ll take that as a no then.”

“You’re such a jerk,” Steve muttered with more affection than anything else.

“You didn’t seem to mind a moment ago.”

A calloused hand found its way into Steve’s hair, gently stroking, caressing, making Steve go boneless in Bucky’s arms.

He didn’t want to, but his brain started going into overdrive. He knew it shouldn’t have happened – you shouldn’t sleep with your partner, that way lay complications and heartbreak, everyone knew that, and yet…given half a chance, he’d do it again. And again. And again.

“Stop it,” Bucky whispered into his ear.

“What?”

“I can hear you think. It’s distracting.”

“Sorry.”

Would Bucky regret it? Did he already? Would they be able to put this behind and still work together, still go against Hydra? Hell, did Bucky even like him? He certainly hadn’t seemed to only a few days ago…but then again, you didn’t have to like someone to have sex with them. Except Steve didn’t do one-night stands. He didn’t do casual. He’d tried, it never worked because his foolish heart got invested and attached and –

“Steve.”

“Sorry. Sorry.”

As fast as possible without appearing too hasty, Steve pulled away from the embrace and Bucky’s warmth, missing it immediately, and padded into the kitchen to get a glass of water, only to have an excuse to be alone with his thoughts for a moment. From behind him, he could hear Bucky using the toilet, running the water in the sink, making his way to the kitchen. To Steve.

“I can leave, if you want?”

Steve turned around, in the dark, he could only see Bucky’s outlines, leaning against the doorframe, probably still naked.

“I’m not throwing you out in the middle of the night,” Steve protested and he was almost certain he heard Bucky laugh softly.

“Even if your uncomfortable?”

“I’m not – that’s not –” he tried but he couldn’t find the words to say what exactly it was, so instead he opened the fridge, “You still hungry?”

Without waiting for Bucky to answer, he pulled out everything he’d need for some grilled cheese and set to work, painfully aware of the other man’s eyes on his back and kind of forgetting that he was standing in total darkness.

Suddenly, the lights were turned on and Steve spun around to see Bucky standing next to the switch, smiling sheepishly. “Might be easier this way,” he said and then turned around to walk back to the bedroom, giving Steve a perfect view of his ass.

_Fuck…_

It didn’t take long for the sandwiches to be put on plates, sizzling hot and gooey, and Bucky returned from the bedroom, a pair of boxers covering his privates, Steve’s boxers, Steve realised, in his hand he held another pair which he threw at Steve’s head.

“Hey!”

“Much as I appreciate the view, your neighbours might not,” Bucky said, gesturing at the curtain-less window with a shit-eating grin.

And just like that, things snapped back in place. The awkwardness Steve had suffocated in earlier was gone, replaced by sense of calm, and they both sat down to eat.


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky had gotten so used to sleeping on Frank’s couch, that he had almost forgotten what an actual bed felt like, not to mention waking up to a warm body next to his. It was…surprisingly nice. Bucky usually always made sure to leave as soon as the guys he slept with fell asleep but…he couldn’t exactly do that with Steve, could he? Steve was his partner, but he was also so much more and he deserved _better_ and Bucky might be a jerk, but he wasn’t a fucking jerk, and he wanted to give that to Steve. Something better. He also hadn’t missed Steve’s little freak out the night before. Be it from a case of gay panic, sleeping with a co-worker, or something else entirely, Bucky knew that if he was gone when Steve woke up, it would only make things worse.

Steve wasn’t the nice guy Bucky had initially thought he was, not that he wasn’t nice, he was, but there was something more – a fire that burned so bright it hurt to look at sometimes, a fierceness and passion unlike anything he’d seen, strength beyond the muscle mass that threatened to rip his shirts with every deep breath. But Steve was also soft and gentle and kind. Fragile in the way he wore his heart on his sleeve for all the world to see and oh did Bucky see it…

_Urgh_. The brunet grimaced at his own thoughts. _You done waxing poetry, Barnes?_ The voice in his head, that sounded suspiciously like Frank, was encouragement enough to carefully untangle their limbs and step into the cold air of Steve’s bedroom. Shivering slightly, Bucky pulled on yesterday’s clothes and went to the kitchen for coffee and breakfast, using the opportunity to fully take in the apartment. It was nice. Every corner had _Steve_ written all over it, from the paintings and pictures on the walls, over the books on art and history on the shelves, all the way to the sketch book on the kitchen table that Bucky had to physically restrain himself not to look into.

It was maybe half an hour later when Bucky heard Steve’s alarm go off in the bedroom, the air filled with the smell of coffee and pancakes.

“You’re still here,” Steve said once he had entered the kitchen, eyes still small and filled with sleep. He didn’t sound upset, if anything he seemed…relieved.

“Well, aren’t you a regular Sherlock,” Bucky teased, offering the blond a cup of coffee, “Didn’t really have anywhere to go. Besides. You’re gonna need a ride since you left your bike at Sam’s”

“Right. Yeah.” Steve took a hasty sip from his coffee, no doubt burning his tongue and Bucky winced in sympathy. “You didn’t have to make breakfast.”

Bucky shrugged. “Hold off on the praise ‘til you tasted it. ‘m not much of a cook.”

Surprisingly enough, the pancakes were actually edible and Bucky couldn’t help but feel a little proud when Steve devoured the last one on the plate, a small smile on his lips.

They washed up together in comfortable silence and for now, Bucky had the feeling that things might actually be okay.

* * *

Bucky’s optimism, like most things, didn’t last long.

The first person they ran into at the precinct was Brock Rumlow who leered at them as if he knew exactly what had happened the previous night, talking to Natasha was out of the question since she was in such a foul mood that even Bucky feared for his life he if he so much as breathed on her the wrong way, Clint was nowhere to be seen, and then there was Hill who wanted an update on the case.

“We don’t have much,” he told her, for once grateful for the 5 years spent with Hydra which had made him an excellent liar and an even better actor, “Keep running into dead ends. We were gonna talk to Tony again. He’s had a week to think things over and maybe he remembers something after all.” Hill nodded, not at all seeming satisfied with his words but not saying anything about them either.

“The press is getting restless,” she admitted, “There are theories of course, about what happened. One more ludicrous than the other but I’m afraid if we don’t give them something concrete soon, they’ll just make up their own story and we won’t look good in those” She looked tired. Exhausted. Bucky almost felt sorry for her, but only almost, so instead of giving encouraging words, he simply nodded as a sign that he understood, his mask still firmly in place. “Thank you, Barnes.” One tired smile later and he was dismissed, immediately making a beeline for Steve who was keeping an eye in the holding cells where two guys that Bucky had never seen before were having a verbal pissing contest.

“We’re working with a limited time frame now,” he told his partner, “Hill thinks the press might turn on us if we don’t present results soon.” Steve nodded. In the cells, one of the guys spat on the ground.

“Let’s find Tony, then.”

Finding Tony meant going to his lab where he did what he usually did, sitting on his chair, listening to ACDC, and working his magic on a microscope while various machines around him blinked and beeped. The air smelled faintly like burned skin and hair.

“Stark,” Bucky yelled over the music but Tony didn’t turn around, simply raised one hand, probably to tell him to be patient, except Bucky had run out of patients the second he’d received this damn case, so without further ado, he walked towards the computer and paused the music.

“Hey!” Tony shouted in outrage, “I was listening to that!”

Ignoring the man’s words, Bucky stepped towards him and turned the hair away from the microscope. “We need to ask you a few more questions.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“Urgh. Fine. What’d you want to know?”

Steve leaned against the table, arms crossed over his chest and for the split of a second, Bucky was distracted by the way his shirt was stretched by his shoulders, remembering the feeling of having those arms wrapped around him, those hands in his hair –

_Concentrate!_

Sitting down on the other chair, Banner’s no doubt, Bucky fixed Tony with his most unforgiving stare. “Tell us again about your conversation with your father.”

Tony blinked. “I told you,” he said, “We were both drunk, I hardly remember anything about it.”

“What do you remember,” Bucky amended.

The genius in front of him let out a deep sigh before saying, “He called me, said he had something important to say, I told him to fuck off, he didn’t listen. He said he’d write the company off to me, all I had to do was sign the papers, I told him to fuck off, he didn’t listen. He said he was sorry, that he made a mistake, that he was gonna make it better, I told him to fuck off, he didn’t listen.”

“And then?”

“I hung up.”

Bucky took a deep, steadying breath, trying to stay calm and not let his frustration show.

It was Steve that spoke up next, calm as you please but nonetheless demanding, “You said he signed the company off to you. Was that something you’d previously discussed?”

“Of course not,” Tony answered, “I didn’t want the company, it’s why I gave it to Pepper.”

“Who’s Pepper?”

“Pepper Potts, my girlfriend,” Tony clarified, a hint of pride seeping into his voice, “She’s way more competent at stuff like that, practically been running the show for years now.”

_Finally_, Bucky thought, _something useful_.

Steve seemed to agree because he perked up. “So, Pepper would know what is going on with Stark Industries?”

“Well, yeah, she’s the CEO.”

“We’ll have to speak to her.”

Tony narrowed his eyes, looking from Steve to Bucky and back to Steve. “Why?”

“Relax, Tony,” Bucky told him, “We just have some question about Stark Industries. There might have been…a connection to your father’s death.” It didn’t seem to do much to actually put Tony at ease but he nodded and that was good enough for Bucky. “Thank you, Tony.”

* * *

It wasn’t until around lunchtime that Natasha seemed to have calmed down enough to not pose an immediate threat to anyone’s life just by existing.

“Where’s Barton?” Was the first thing Bucky asked when he approached her at her desk and, yep, the darkness passing over her face was enough for Bucky to know just what exactly had caused the redhead’s previous anger.

“Home sick,” she answered, the shadow gone as fast as it had come, “His brother roped him into a fight with the Yakuza last night before doing a runner and leaving Clint to deal with them on his own. Мудак.”

_Yeah_, Bucky thought, _that would do it._

“Is he okay?”

“He’ll live.”

Bucky nodded. _Good enough_. “Have lunch with me?”

Natasha looked at him sharply, her eyes narrowing, no doubt assessing him, trying to figure out what was wrong because in the six months they’d known each other, Bucky had never asked her out for lunch. “As long as you’re buying,” she said cautiously and Bucky shrugged.

“Might as well.”

“In that case, I want sushi.”

That’s how the two detectives ended up in Natasha’s favourite Chinese place, surrounded by college students, business men and women, and tourists, a food platter between them and each with a glass of icy water.

“So,” Natasha prompted after a while, “What’s wrong?”

_Cutting right to the chase then_. Of course, Bucky would expect nothing less of Natasha, she wasn’t one to beat around the bush or sugar coat things, she preferred plain, hard facts and to call things by their names, and, really, that’s why Bucky had chosen her for this. Why he had decided to trust her.

“My case,” he started to explain, meeting her unwavering gaze, “It’s bigger than we initially thought it was.”

“The Stark case.” Natasha nodded, picking a sushi roll up with her chopsticks. “What do you need?”

“What do you know about Hydra?” Bucky countered, ignoring her question.

For a moment, Natasha’s mask broke, her perfectly plugged eyebrows shooting up as she looked at him in surprise, then, as if nothing had happened, she schooled her featured into learned neutrality and calmly ate the sushi roll. “They’re bad news,” she answered eventually, “Are they involved?”

“Yes.”

Natasha nodded. “How do you know I’m not one of them?” From anyone else, the question would have been weird, suspicious even, but Bucky knew it was a simple insurance on her part, making sure they were on the same page, making sure he had considered all the options, making sure she had all the information.

“I don’t,” Bucky replied truthfully and, again, with anyone else, that answer wouldn’t have worked, but Natasha wasn’t just anyone. “But I trust you. And I have it on good authority that Hydra and the mobs don’t mix well.”

“We don’t,” Natasha agreed, an almost-smile tugging on the corners of her moth, “How can I help?”

It was easy, really, filling her in on everything they’d learned and suspected, and Natasha listened, taking in all the info, considering and reconsidering it again and again, weighting it, before drawing a conclusion.

“You need backup plans,” she told him and Bucky nodded, _yes_, they did. “If Potts doesn’t help you, whether she can’t or won’t, you still need access to Stane. He’s your main target.”

“I have people who can get into the internal server of Stark Industries, we just need to get them inside the building but I don’t expect that to be a problem.” Again, Natasha seemed slightly surprised but didn’t say anything. “Thing is,” Bucky went on, “I don’t think Stane is our man. Sure, he might be Hydra…but he’s just a small fish. The shark is someone else.”

“Hmm,” Natasha hummed, looking contemplative, a finger tracing the rim of her glass of water, “But it’s a start and I’ll see what I can do. Who else do you trust?”

Bucky’s eyes followed Natasha’s finger for a long moment, thinking. “Guy I live with. His friends. Steve and his friends. Steve’s old partner from D.C.,” he answered, “Maybe Asgard. Thor still owes me a favour. Possibly Loki, depending on what mood he’s in.”

“Be careful with Loki,” Natasha cut in, retracting her finger and folding her hands on the table, “His loyalty is to no one but himself and I doubt he’s feeling all that generous at the moment. Last I heard, Odin permanently banned him from the clubhouse.” _Damn_, Bucky thought. Sure, Loki was a wild card but he was also one of the best conman Bucky had ever met. “What about your old squad?”

Bucky’s first impulse was to say no, _no way am I gonna drag them into this_, but there was something in Natasha’s eyes, in the way she’d suggested it, that made him pause and reconsider, just for a moment.

_What if?_

“I’d have to track them down first,” he explained, “Haven’t spoken to ‘em in 5 years. Hell, I’m not even sure they know I’m alive.”

And there it was. The Smile. The Smile that meant she knew something others didn’t, the Smile that meant trouble and danger and mystery. Bucky hated the Smile. Bucky had never been more relieved to see it.

“Don’t worry about that.”

“Alright,” Bucky agreed before he had a chance to change his mind.

Natasha gave him a firm nod and snatched the last sushi roll from the plate. “We better get back,” she said between chewing, “Before your boy turns the whole precinct into a forest with all the pining he does.”

Bucky blinked. “What?”

“Nothing.” That damn Smile.

Bucky blinked again.

_What?_

* * *

The precinct was not a forest, thank you very much, and Steve was not pining. Really, Bucky had no idea what was going on in Natasha’s head sometimes. Or all of the time, to be perfectly honest. Steve was, however, deeply frowning at what Bucky recognized to be Howard Stark’s journal. 

“Find anything new?” Bucky asked as he took his seat opposite from his partner, making him jump.

“I’m not sure,” Steve muttered, settling back down and returning his gaze to the book in front of him. “This goes back several years,” he explained, turning the page, “It’s pretty inconsistent for the most part, sometimes going months without an entry but…” Steve trailed off, his tongue poking out between his lips and Bucky waited patiently for him to continue. Then, as if shaken out of his thoughts, Steve snapped the book shut and looked at Bucky. “A bit over six months ago, he started writing almost daily and he keeps mentioning something called Project Insight. He never explains what that means exactly, but he makes it pretty clear that he doesn’t like it.”

Bucky tilted his head in acknowledgement but his eyes were glaring at Rumlow and Rollins who were watching them from the other side of the room. “Could be a lead,” he said to Steve, “Could be something to ask Potts about once we speak with her.” Across the room, the two detectives exchanged a few words, gazes never leaving Steve and Bucky. “Which we should do soon.”

“You’re right,” Steve agreed, running his hand over his face, rubbing his eyes.

Rumlow said something else to his partner and then both men started walking, making their way through the desks and people, a clear goal in mind.

“Well,” Bucky just barely refrained from clapping his hands together as he stood up, “Come on then, we’re wasting time here.”

“What? Now?” Steve asked, completely oblivious to the situation at hand.

“Yes, now. Unless you got something else to do?” Bucky knew that he was being harsh, his words clipped and unfriendly, Steve frowning at him and his tone of voice, but Bucky also didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Not with Rumlow and Rollins almost within earshot and Bucky had the distinct feeling that they should be gone before that happened. “Rogers.”

“Alright. Alright,” Steve grumbled, getting up as well, “I’m coming.”  
Without waiting for his partner, Bucky turned around and headed for the doors, knowing Steve wouldn’t be far behind. The hallway was unusually crowded but Bucky could still make out the doors to the lift at the end, opening, revealing Chief Fury and Captain Hill, deeply engaged in a conversation and Bucky cursed under his breath. Before he could even fully process his actions, he had grabbed Steve’s arms and pulled him to the left, down another hallway, this one completely empty safe for them.

“What the –”

“Keep walking,” Bucky all but growled, pushing open a set of doors that would lead them to the staircase and, surprisingly, blessedly, Steve did. They made it down the stairs without speaking a single word, Bucky always staying alert, listening for any kind of noise, any sign they were being followed…above them, a door slammed shut.

Bucky didn’t relax until they sat in the relative safety of the car and he threaded into the familiar business of New York traffic.

“Okay, what the fuck, Barnes?” Steve finally broke after long, excruciating minutes in stifling silence.

“Rumow and Rollins were coming right at us and Fury was coming out of the lift,” Bucky explained, ignoring the pang of hurt at the coldness in Steve’s voice, “I panicked.”

There was another moment of silence, long and pregnant, as Steve processed the words, then – “You don’t trust Fury,” Steve repeated flatly, “You don’t trust the Chief of Police.”

Bucky snorted, turning onto a smaller, less busy street. “Fury was there when Abraham died, he was a cop for fuckin’ years before becoming Captain of the 107 but he never did a fuckin’ thing to solve the case…So, no…I don’t trust him.”

Next to him, Steve was looking out of the window, stiff and tense and angry. “Fair enough.” It didn’t sound right. Bucky was almost completely certain that the only reason Steve backed down now, was to keep Bucky happy. Bucky was very much not happy. “So. What now? Are we actually going to talk to Miss Potts?”

Bucky bit down on his lower lip. They should go and talk to Potts, shouldn’t they?

_But what if it’s a trap?_

_A trap for what exactly, Barnes?_

Shaking his head, Bucky muttered a quiet, “Yeah,” before turning onto a street that would take them to Stark Tower.


	8. Chapter 8

Really, at this point, Steve didn’t know what to think anymore. He’d been sure – he’d been so sure – that things were different now, that things had changed with the previous day…the previous night…Had been sure that Bucky was beginning to warm up to him, and yet, here they were, with Bucky as snappish and distant as ever, dragging him around like some bratty child and Steve hated how much it hurt. The silence between them was frigid, freezing, filled with words left unspoken and leaving Steve cold and empty.

When they finally did arrive at Stark Tower, Bucky was out of the car the second he had shut off the engine, not even waiting for Steve to unbuckle his seatbelt, who took the moment to let out a heavy sigh and braze himself before opening the his door and entering the hunking, hideous pile of glass and metal in front of him…and not a moment too late it seemed.

“- doesn’t work like that, sir, Miss Potts is a very busy woman and I can’t just let you see her without an appointment,” the woman at the reception said politely but Steve could see the annoyance in her eyes, “I’m sure you understand.”

Bucky leaned forward over the counter, flashing a smile that was all teeth and sharp edges, a predator ready to pounce, and even though the woman obviously managed to fight back the flinch, she couldn’t quite suppress the shiver as she tried to bring some more space between them. “And I’m sure you’ll make an exception for us,” Bucky growled dangerously. Threateningly.

Despite the obvious discomfort, fear even, the woman stood her ground, taking a deep breath and meeting Bucky’s gaze before replying coolly, “With all due respect, detective, but Miss Potts is not in at the moment and even if she was, you’d have to wait to see her just like everybody else.”

Steve felt a deep wave of sympathy and respect for her. He knew form experience just how scary Bucky could be who now opened his mouth once again, no doubt to bring forward some kind of threat, but Steve quickly intervened.

“That’s alright, ma’am.” He smiled at her as kindly and encouragingly as he could, wedging himself between Bucky and the reception. “I apologize for my partner, it’s just…we’re under a lot of pressure at the moment – you know how it is – what with the press and the public demanding answers about what happened with Mr. Stark.”

“It was quite the tragedy,” the woman commented.

“Quite,” Steve agreed, nodding along, “Can you please just tell us when Miss Potts is to be expected back? We wouldn’t need long. Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking, just to clear some things up and then we’d be out of your hair.” He wasn’t playing fair, he knew. Sam had told him time and time again that his puppy dog eyes could make even the most cold-hearted man fall to his knees and do his bidding, and this woman was no different – Steve could see it in her eyes, the conflict between simply throwing them out and going along with Steve’s request, so Steve waited, keeping his smile firmly in place, making himself as small and unthreatening as he could with his body mass and, eventually, it payed off.

The woman, whose name Steve still didn’t know, sighed and turned towards her computer screen. “Miss Potts should be back within the hour,” she told them, “You may go up to her office and sit in the waiting area.”

“Thank you so much, ma’am, we really appreciate it.”

This time, it was Steve who grabbed Bucky’s arm and pulled him along, through the hall towards the lifts, and Bucky let him, his expression unreadable.

“You need to calm down,” he snapped at the brunet as they entered one of the many lifts, going up. He expected Bucky to throw back some snarky response, to get angry, to tell Steve to stop interfering, but it never came. Instead, Bucky had slumped against the mirror, his shoulders hunched, his head hanging low.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky muttered. At this rate, Steve was worried he was going to get whiplash with how quick Bucky seemed to change faces. The face he carried right now held something akin to pain, to shame, and to sorrow. “I used to be like you, y’know. Charming.” He huffed out a breath and his lips curled into a bitter, joyless smile. “Used to be, I coulda gotten in anywhere just by batting my eyelashes and giving the right smile, but now…? I don’t know how to do that anymore. How to be that person again. They took that from me too.”

The frustration Steve had felt with Bucky just a second ago was gone, replaced by affection and the desire to _protect_.

“It’s alright,” Steve said and he meant it. It was alright. Bucky had a right to be a bit messed up after five years with Hydra doing who knows what. “Just, next time…maybe let me do the talking from the beginning?” He suggested, giving a shy smile that only grew bigger when Bucky returned it.

“You’re a good man, Steve.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Bucky snorted just as the doors of the lift opened and the brunet quickly fled into the hallway that led to Pepper Potts’ office. “You are,” Steve insisted as he caught up with his partner. They found the waiting area, a group of armchairs and sofas and a water dispenser, and sat down. “Bucky, what happened to you doesn’t define who you are as a person. Your past doesn’t dictate your future. People change, they do it all the time, maybe not always in big, noticeable ways, but they do and that’s okay.”

Bucky was looking at him now, a small frown on his face. “You ever thought of becoming a motivational speaker?” he said, but the joke fell flat with the weight of the situation.

“Shut up,” Steve shot back regardless, “I’m tryin’a be nice to you, here.”

The frown disappeared and Bucky gave him the smallest of smiles, a little ‘thank you’ without speaking the actual words, but there was something else, something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, or maybe Steve had just never noticed – there was a softness there, something vulnerable and private.

“What?” Steve asked, not able to stand the silence any longer.

“You’re too good for this city, Steve.” Of all the things Bucky could have said, that was the last Steve had expected.

“What do you mean?”

Bucky shook his head as if he didn’t even know himself what he had meant. “Doesn’t matter,” he said and Steve could practically watch him building his walls back up brick by brick as his face smoothed over and became the familiar blank mask that Bucky liked to wear at all times. Steve was only a little surprised to find how much it hurt to see that happen.

* * *

Steve’s first thought when Pepper Potts arrived 20 minutes later, was that she was not what he would have expected the CEO of a multi-billion company to be like, while at the same time being perfect for the role. She had the air of someone with nerves of steel and a heart of gold and where people in her position usually radiated ice, she was fire.

“How can I help you, detectives?” She asked after inviting them into her office, as if they hadn’t just ambushed her completely unannounced.

“Thank you for making time for us,” Steve said, sitting down in one of the two chairs in front of Miss Potts’ desk, deciding to take the lead and some of the pressure off Bucky. “We have a few questions regarding Howard Stark.”  
Miss Potts nodded, folding her hands on the table in front of her. “I’m not sure how much help I’ll be,” she admitted, “I never knew Howard all that well.”

“But you have been working here for several years?”

“I have,” she confirmed, “I was Howard’s personal assistant for about ten years before becoming CEO but Howard was not the kind of person to strike a lot of personal relationships.”  
_Yeah_, Steve thought, _so we’ve heard_.

“It’s more about the company than Mister Stark as a person,” Steve explained, “Did you know he was planning on leaving?”

“No.” Miss Potts shook her head. “It was a surprise to all of us, but then again, he was a man of many secrets.”

“How did the board react to his decision?” Bucky asked from where he was sat next to Steve.

Miss Potts redirected her attention to the brunet and answered, “Surprised. Displeased. Some had very vocal opinions on the matter.”  
“Why?”

The CEO gave them a lopsided smile, seeming amused. “Tony has made it clear from a very early age that he had no interest in Stark Industries,” she said, “Having him run the company raised some concerns. Of course, Tony’s decision to give it to me raised even more.”  
_I bet it did_. Steve did not envy Pepper Potts. He couldn’t even imagine what it was like, being the only woman in a room full of man and being more powerful than all of them. _A woman with power_, he thought, _many a man’s biggest fear_.

“And have you spoken to Howard Stark in the last six months?”

Again, Miss Potts shook her head. “No.”

“Miss Potts,” Bucky began, leaning forward in his chair, a few strands hair falling into his face, “We have statements that say that Howard was worried about something before his death, do you have any idea what that might have been?”

Miss Potts frowned slightly, thinking. “No,” she said slowly, “Like I said, I didn’t know him all that well and after leaving the company I didn’t see him again.”

“Have you ever of Project Insight?”

“Project Insight?”

“Yes.”

“No. What is that?” Miss Potts asked, genuine confusion and curiosity on her face.

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Steve answered, “We thought it might have been connected to Stark Industries.”  
“I’ve never heard of it, but if you like I can check the system for you.”

“That would be very helpful.”

Turning her chair slightly, Miss Potts faced her computer and began tapping on the keyboard, while Steve let his eyes drift through the room. It was neat. Impersonal.

“Is there any chance that there might be personal belongings of Mister Stark here that he left behind?” He asked and was surprised when Miss Potts laughed.

“To be perfectly honest with you,” she replied without taking her eyes off the screen, “Even when Howard was still CEO, he was hardly ever in this office. It’d be surprised if he even knew the password to his email account.”

“But you did?”

“I did,” she confirmed, clicking her mouse, “I’ve been managing all of Howard’s affairs for several years now.” Another click. “And I’m afraid there is no record of something called Project Insight in our system.”

Steve nodded, not really surprised. “Thank you anyway, ma’am,” he said and Miss Potts smiled at him.

“One last question,” Bucky piped up, “When Howard announced his decision to leave, was there anyone whose reaction seemed…out of proportion?”

Turning her chair back to face them, Miss Potts considered them with a rather complicated expression on her face, lips pressed into a thin line, eyebrows creased ever so slightly. “I don’t mean to point any fingers,” she said cautiously, “But Obadiah Stane seemed…very upset by the news. Angry. I saw them go into this office after the meeting.”

It was a lead. Finally, after a week of being in the dark, they finally seemed to have a lead.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Potts.”

“You’re welcome, detectives.” Miss Potts stood up from her chair, as did Steve and Bucky, following her to the door. “If I can help you in any other way, don’t hesitate to have Tony call me.”

“Thank you,” Steve said one last time and then both detectives left the office and the Tower.


	9. Chapter 9

Back at the station, the clock on the wall had just announced the end of their shift, Bucky slowly assembled his things, shutting off his computer, rearranging the stack of files on his desk, while Steve finished some paperwork.

He was nervous.

He was James Buchanan Barnes and he was fucking nervous.

_Come on, Barnes_, he said to himself, _are you man or a mouse?_

_Mouse_, he replied to himself, _definitely a mouse_. At least when it came to Steve Rogers, it seemed.

_Argh, fuck this shit._

“Got any plans for tonight?” he asked before he could talk himself out of it. Across from him, Steve froze for the split of a second, eyes jumping to Bucky before quickly going back to his work. “No,” he answered, “Why?”

“Frank’s having the Guys over tonight which means Pizza a plenty. You’re welcome to join.”

This time, Steve paused working altogether, staring at Bucky with wide eyes. “What?”

Steve shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he turned back to his computer. “Nothing,” he said, “And sure, it’d love to.”

Bucky let out a breath, forcing his racing heart to go back to something more appropriate outside of a life-or-death situation, and stood up. “Well then.” He put on his jacket. “Come by whenever but don’t expect me to save you any pizza if you’re too late.”

Steve snorted but didn’t reply and Bucky quickly walked off before he could embarrass himself any further, judging by Natasha’s expression when he passed her at her desk, it was already bad enough as it was.

* * *

When Bucky opened the door to the apartment, Frank was there, sitting in front of the TV, beer in hand, and not even looking up when Bucky entered.

“Saw you weren’t here last night,” he commented casual as you please.

“Wasn’t aware I had to ask for your permission to leave the house,” Bucky shot back, getting his own beer from the fridge.

“Just wondering,” Frank muttered as Bucky sat down next to him, “It’s not like you have other friends.”

“Screw you, Castle.”

“Good night, then?” Frank asked, grinning around his bottle and if it wasn’t so much effort, Bucky would have seriously contemplated killing the man and making sure no one ever found the body.

“Screw you, Castle.”

“Very good night, then,” Frank laughed, completely unaffected by Bucky’s scowl.

_He’s an asshole, anyway_, Bucky thought, as he very pointedly did not raise to the bait and instead lit a cigarette and blew the smoke into Frank’s face who didn’t even blink.

On the TV, some mindless action hero dodged a truly ridiculous number of bullets while trying to get to his equally mindless love interest who was cowering in the background, waiting to be saved.

Someone knocked at the door. Twice.

“Not it,” Bucky said quickly before Frank even had the chance to tell him to stand up, forcing the other man to let out a heavy sigh and a string of colourful courses while he made his way to the door to let the Guys in who piled into the apartment, each balancing two pizzas in one hand and holding a six-pack of beer in the other…it was going to be a long night.

It was loud. It was always loud when the Guys came over and the apartment was small, too small for six grown man all chatting and laughing and giving each other shit, plus Bucky sitting in the middle of it all, trying to re-orientate himself amongst all the chaos, trying to re-focus as Micro stole a slice of pizza right from under Frank’s nose and Frank began to threaten to cut off Micro’s hand with the pizza cutter, as Scott and Louis started talking over each other, each trying to be the loudest, as Dave laughed loudly, sipping his beer, as the doorbell rang –

_Hang on._

The doorbell rang again.

“I’ll get it.”

Bucky was out of his seat before anyone could do much else and he could hear Scott’s hushed voice as Bucky all but bolted to the door. “Is he sick or something?”

And Frank’s response, grumbled yet loud and clear, “Or somethin’.”

But Bucky didn’t care because on the other side of the door stood Steve, an almost shy smile on his face. “Hey.”

Bucky allowed himself all of one second to be a little bit star-struck by the blond before getting a hold of himself and giving him a smirk. “At last,” he said as he stepped aside to let Steve in, “Wasn’t sure you’d make it before all the pizza was gone.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he shrugged off his jacket and eyed the scene before him.

“Detective!” Scott cried out, his mouth full of pizza and this time Bucky did facepalm himself.

_God have mercy._

“Oh yoyo!” Luis exclaimed, sliding forward so that he barely sat on the edge of the seat, “That your partner, the nice one, the one that’s super ripped, man?”

“I never said that!” Bucky cut in, turning to Steve whose face was bright red, “I never said that.”

“It was implied,” Micro added very unhelpfully.

“Okay, all of you shut up!” Bucky snapped, stalking over to the couch to sit back down and deeply regretting every life choice that led up this very moment while Steve took one of the chairs, looking almost sheepish.

“Pizza?” Kurt asked, offering one of the boxes to Steve who accepted with a small smile.

* * *

Bucky waited until after the pizza was gone and everyone had downed a few more beers before he decided to approach the topic of Hydra.

Steve, it turned out, wasn’t as out of place as Bucky had feared he would be, joking with Scott and laughing at Luis’ stories, and even getting Frank to smile – it warmed his heart to see the blond with these people that were the closest Bucky had to friends, ignoring the fact that they were all technically wanted criminals…some more so than others.

“I have a job for you,” Bucky announced, counting on everyone to quiet down once they’d heard the words. They did.

“Come again?” Scott asked, looking so utterly confused that Bucky had to avert his eyes so he wouldn’t laugh.

“I have a job for you,” Bucky repeated into the stunned silence.

Everyone but Frank, whose eyes were fixed on Bucky, started glancing at Steve uncomfortably, shifting in their seat, clearing their throats.

“_We_ have a job for you,” Steve emphasized, holding Bucky’s gaze, and clearly that was not what the others had expected because suddenly even the faintest sounds and movements died down, everyone frozen in place, eyes jumping from Bucky to Steve and back to Bucky.

“Stark Tower,” Bucky explained, “Tomorrow night. Obadiah Stane’s office. We need everything that could possibly be a connection between him and Hydra as well as Stark Industries and Hydra. Emails, letters, notes, receipts, checks, banks statements, whatever. We also need to know what Project Insight is. Get into his computer, go through his desk, wherever he might keep information, but don’t leave any tracks. When he comes to work the next day, he cannot know that someone was there. Questions?”

“Are you sure you’re not sick?” Scott asked carefully.

Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes. “Relevant questions?”

“Bit short notice,” Frank commented but there was a glint in his eyes, a challenge recognized and accepted. It wasn’t an objection even if Frank was right but Bucky trusted him to make it work.

“Well,” Bucky said, standing up from the couch, “You got shit to do, we got work in the morning. Steve,” he turned to the blond who had just finished his fourth beer, “You’re staying the night, can’t have you drunk driving. Castle –” The man question lifted his head to look at Bucky. “—We’re taking your bed.”

Frank snorted, an unreadable expression on his face. “’s long as you don’t fuck.”

Bucky grinned, motioning for Steve to get up as well as he replied, “Don’t worry, I’ll change the sheets after.” One wink towards Frank and an answering scowl later, Bucky was leading Steve into the bedroom, one hand securely closed around the blond’s upper arm.

“You don’t really want to…” Steve started, blushing furiously.

“No.” Bucky shook his head, chuckling to himself. “But I _am_ gonna change the sheets. Fuck knows what he’s been up to in these.”

Changing the sheets didn’t take long, stripping down to his underwear was even quicker, and before Bucky knew it, he was faced with the reality of sharing the bed with one Steven Grant Rogers.

_Get over yourself_.

He climbed into the bed and under the covers, the soft mattress easily giving way to his weight, and then he stared up at Steve who stood unmoving. Watching.

“Well, come on.”

Steve was still blushing. It was a pretty colour, deep and vivid, running down his neck and disappearing under the collar of his shirt and Bucky wanted nothing more than to see just how far it went, wanted to trace it with his hands and lips and tongue.

Steve was still blushing but he followed Bucky’s advice and took off his trousers but kept the shirt on before he slipped under the covers into the space Bucky had left for him. It was different, this – different from last night where their bodies had fit together like parts of a puzzle, comfortable and in tune with each other. Bucky could feel the tension rolling off Steve in waves that threatened to swallow them whole, to drown them, to drag them under and leave them stranded, and he could feel his own nerves, his own heart beating an almost painful tattoo against his ribs, his blood rushing through his veins like fire and ice, his breath too shallow and too shaky. It was ridiculous, really. They were two grown ass man that had had sex and now they behaved like fucking teenagers in the prime of their puberty.

_Get. Over. Yourself._

He gave himself a mental whack upside the head and resolutely closed the gap between them, all but plastering himself to Steve’s side, shifting until his head was resting on Steve’s shoulder who became impossibly tenser for the split of a second before relaxing into the touch, tentatively closing his arms around Bucky who hummed in appreciation. And maybe this was the time where they should have talked, the time where anyone else would have talked, but they weren’t anyone else and they didn’t talk, the silence just as heavy as before but more natural now, more comfortable, more content.

From the other room, Bucky could hear Luis’ voice, talking and talking and talking, could hear Scott’s laugher, and Frank shouting, “You’re a piece of shit, Micro!”, while under him, Steve snorted, shaking his head.

“They always like that?” he asked into the darkness of the bedroom.

“Nah,” Bucky answered, “You caught ‘em on a good day.”

Again, Steve snorted. “They’re not so bad,” he muttered, “for a couple o’ low-lives.”

“You’re such a little shit.”  
“You like it.” The certainty in Steve’s voice almost startled Bucky, almost made him raise his head to try and look at the blond’s face but as soon as he tried to move, Steve tightened his grip, keeping him where he was, not forcefully but gently, a request rather than a command, and Bucky more than happily complied.

“Maybe I do.”

* * *

For the second time in a row, Bucky woke up in a bed.

For the second time in a row, Bucky woke up next to someone else.

For the second time in a row, Bucky woke up next to Steve.

_I could get used this_, he thought, trying to hold on to the sweet oblivion of sleep just a little bit longer, trying to absorb the frankly ridiculous heat Steve gave off, trying to commit this moment to memory because it wouldn’t happy again any time soon. Couldn’t. This was too dangerous and _Steve deserves better, damnit_. In the end, it always came back to that. To Steve.

“Buck?” the blond in question mumbled against Bucky’s hairline.

“Mornin’.”

“What time is it?”

“Too early.”

Steve chuckled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest and warming Bucky’s heart.

With a low groan, Bucky forced himself to pull away from Steve’s embrace and stood up, walking out of the bedroom without bothering with clothes, only to see that apparently everyone had stayed the night.

Frank and Micro were both sprawled out on the sofa, Frank’s feet squished into Micro’s face, a pillow on his own. Scott was lying on the floor, using Luis’ legs as a pillow who was sleeping half propped up by the sofa. Kurt had repurposed three of the chairs as a makeshift cot, snoring loudly. Dave was on the table, his head pillowed by a stack of empty pizza boxes.

Shaking his head at the scene, Bucky walked over to the little kitchenette, poured himself a cup of coffee and grabbed his smokes before sitting down on the only chair that wasn’t currently occupied by Kurt, putting his feet on the coffee table and lighting his first cigarette of the day.

It didn’t take long for Steve to come out of the bedroom as well, fully dressed but his hair a mess, looking beautifully out of place in this apartment that looked more like the aftermath of a frat party than the home of two grown men in their thirties. He, too, got himself a coffee, and opened the fridge.

“Don’t count on breakfast unless you want cold pizza,” Bucky told him without looking.

Steve made a vaguely disgusted noise and answered, “No thanks. I think I grew out of that somewhere in my twenties.”

_You and me both, pal_, Bucky thought.

“Then you’ll have to wait,” he said.

“What the hell do you guys eat?” Steve took a few tentative steps towards Bucky and when the brunet finally looked at him, he saw…concern. There was worry there, sympathy, and a fond kind of exasperation.

Bucky swallowed, taking a drag from his cig. “Nothing that would meet your approval, probably.”

“You need to take better care of yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky muttered, sipping at his coffee. It was still too hot.

“I mean it. Can’t have my partner dying from a heart attack or something.”

“Good to know you care,” Bucky shot back teasingly, ignoring the flutter of his heart.

They looked at each other, both grinning like idiots, and Bucky was glad that everyone else was still asleep…he didn’t think he’d survive the shit he’d get for this kind of behaviour – like a lovesick teenager.

_Careful there, Barnes, no one said anything about love._

“Lemme finish this, then we can get something to eat,” Bucky said, hoping that his voice wasn’t as choked as it sounded to his own ears, hoping that Steve didn’t notice the slight tremor in his hands as he finished the cigarette, hoping that his heart would stop doing that funny thing in his chest.

If Steve had noticed any of those things, he didn’t let it on, simply nodded and drank his coffee, looking at the others in obvious amusement.

After having finished his coffee, Bucky went over to the dresser in the corner that held his meagre belongings and pulled out some clothes before going into the bathroom to get ready for the day. It would be long ass day.


	10. Chapter 10

Some part of Steve wondered if he’d lost all of his sanity, of course some people, mainly Sam, would argue that he’d never had any sanity to begin with, but Steve wholeheartedly disagreed with that. He was a very sane person, thank you very much. Or he had been, anyway.

Now, he had hired a group of criminals to break into a suspect’s office to retrieve evidence for him, hoping to take down an even bigger group of criminals, all while slowly but surely falling in love with his partner. His partner who was probably the kindest, most considerate, most caring asshole he’d ever met. His partner who was brash and blunt and brave. His partner who was currently sitting next to him in the car, blowing smoke out the window, and looking down the empty street towards Stark Tower while Steve was sipping his coffee, very pointedly not thinking about all the laws they were breaking and what would happen to them if they were caught.

“They’ll be fine,” Bucky spoke into the silence between them, his cigarette glimmering in the darkness.

“I’m not worried.”

Bucky let out a snort. “You’re a terrible fuckin’ liar, Rogers.”

Steve, on his part, let out a small sigh, staring at the cup cradled between his hands. “What if –” he started, swallowing around the lump in his throat before trying again, “What happened if they get caught?”

“They go to prison and I’ll lose my job,” Bucky answered matter-of-factly and way too calm for Steve’s liking.

“We,” the blond corrected, “We’ll lose our job.”

“Nah.” Bucky took a long drag from his cigarette. “You’ll be fine.”

“What does that mean?”

“That you don’t need to worry.”

_But I am_, Steve wanted to say, _we’re in this together_.

_I’m not worried about me_, he wanted to say.

He wanted to say, _but what about you?_

Instead, Steve turned his head to look at his partner, really look at him. Bucky was beautiful, even in the dirty, yellow light of the city, against the background of dumpsters and graffiti, Steve could see it.

“I’m not worried,” Steve said again, not sure if he wanted to convince himself or the man next to him. Bucky chuckled, a dark, rich sound that made Steve’s heart soar.

“You’re too good for this city,” Bucky muttered quietly, as if it hadn’t been meant for Steve’s ears.

Steve frowned. “You keep saying that but I don’t know what it means.”

“Means you deserve better.”

There was something that Steve felt he was missing, something between the lines that was written so small, Steve couldn’t read it properly, but somehow, he didn’t think Bucky was merely talking about being a New York City cop.

“Don’t you think that’s for me to decide?” he countered, “What I do and don’t deserve.”

Finally, Bucky turned his head, smoke curling between them but Steve could see his eyes nonetheless, bright and blue. “And what would you decide?” It was a challenge. A loaded request that went far beyond the words they’d spoken and Steve wanted more than anything to accept, to take that step and bridge the distance between them. Bucky’s eyes were piercing into him, enthralling him, pulling him in, and Steve was more than happy to let them, to lean closer, to –

“Get ready for extraction.” Frank’s voice came through the comms that Steve had kind of forgotten where in his and Bucky’s ears, startling him out of the trance he’d been under violently and suddenly, leaving him wanting and cold.

Bucky snapped to attention and turned forward, away from Steve, looking for all the world like nothing at all had happened but Steve prided himself with knowing his partner well enough to see the slight tremor in his hands as they took the wheel, to notice the hitched breath and barely-there disappointment in his eyes.

“Ready,” Bucky answered at the same time as Micro who was waiting in a van on the other side of the building.

After that, it didn’t take long for Frank and his friends to exit the Tower and for Bucky to start up the engine so that they could leave.

* * *

Steve didn’t sleep that night, kept tossing and turning and cursing under his breath, his bed uncomfortably empty and cold. Bucky had insisted of driving him home, had refused Steve’s invitation to spent another night in a proper bed and Steve couldn’t help but feel hurt by the rejection.

_Bucky._

There was something there, Steve was certain. Something that went beyond the tentative partnership they had struck. Bucky cared. For him and about him.

_You’re too good for this city_, he had said, _you deserve better_ – better than what?

That was the big question that Steve was too afraid to ask, even himself.

_And what would you decide?_

Steve sighed into the darkness of his bedroom, finally giving up on sleep altogether and getting out of bed.

_I’d decide to be with him. _

The thought itself wasn’t a surprise. Not anymore. Not after he’d gotten to know Bucky the way he had. But would Bucky let him? Probably not.

_Means you deserve better_

Letting out a frustrated groan, Steve padded through his apartment into the kitchen and made himself a coffee, deciding to take a look at everything Frank and the Guys had found in Stane’s office.

_Fuck you, Barnes._

* * *

“What?” Bucky’s voice was hoarse and gravelly over the phone, slurred from sleep or maybe the lack thereof.

“I found something,” Steve announced, pushing down the surge of guilt at having woken up his partner.

There was a beat of silence, the only sound being that of Bucky’s even breathing and for a second, Steve thought that maybe the other man had fallen back asleep, then – “What?”

“I found something,” Steve repeated, “Something big.”

This time, the silence that followed was somehow heavier, interrupted by the occasional shift on Bucky’s end.

“Gimme half an hour,” Bucky grumbled, “And Rogers? I want coffee.”

And then the line went dead, leaving Steve sitting in the almost darkness of his kitchen, staring at the phone in his hand, a rather inappropriate smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, before he got up to put on some more clothes and start the coffee for when Bucky would get here.

When thirty minutes later the bell rang, Steve hadn’t just made coffee but also breakfast, hoping to appease Bucky at least a little.

_Morning_, he wanted to say as he opened the door, _thank you for coming_, but the thunderous expression on Bucky’s face stopped him.

“This better be good, Rogers.” Bucky pushed past Steve into the apartment, his hair and clothes were unkempt, the bottoms of his shirt askew and two differently coloured socks pocked out between his pants and shoes. “I had all of two hours of sleep.”

Steve winced in sympathy. “Sorry.”

Bucky waved him off and went straight for the kitchen with a muttered, “Coffee first,” leaving Steve no other choice but to follow and _oh shit_! Bucky had only been in Steve’s kitchen once but that must have been enough because now he moved with confidence and purpose, pulling out a mug and plates to help himself to coffee and breakfast, seeming to know exactly where everything was and it did things to Steve. Seeing the brunet in his kitchen, comfortable and like he _belonged_…his heart was furiously skipping beats and his stomach doing somersaults and _I need to stop thinking like this, damnit_.

Bucky had taken both his mug and plate and sat down at the table, eyes finding Steve’s.

“You just gonna stand there or join me?” he asked, cocking his eyebrow.

Steve gulped and shot back, “Eat your damn bacon, Barnes,” glad that his voice didn’t betray the wobbliness of his knees. Bucky gave him a shit-eating grin but did as he was told, letting out an obscene moan at the first bite and Steve had to quickly turn his back to hide the blush that was creeping down his neck.

“Well, shit, Rogers,” Bucky said behind him, “Maybe I should have you cook for me more often.”

“Shut up.”

“No, I’m serious! This is real good.”

His own plate securely in hands, Steve took the chair opposite to Bucky who looked at him way too innocently and earnestly for Steve’s taste.

“’s just bacon and eggs,” Steve mumbled, dropping his gaze but he could still see the impressively unimpressed look Bucky gave him.

“Just take the damn compliment, punk,” he said, his voice filled with a fond kind of exasperation and Steve quickly shoved a large bite into his mouth to keep himself from smiling like an idiot.

They ate in silence after that but Steve could always feel Bucky’s eyes on him, steady and unwavering.

_And what would you decide?_

The words echoed through his mind over and over again, mocking him, and Steve silently cursed Frank for keeping him from answering because now it was too late. The moment was gone and Steve, loath as he was to admit it, was too scared to bring it back.

After having finished, Bucky got himself another coffee and pulled out his cigarettes, shooting Steve a questioning glance who gestured towards the window before he started cleaning up. He was painfully aware of Bucky sitting on the ledge, one leg dangling outside while he watched the city that never really slept below that was, despite the early hour, already, or maybe still, buzzing with life.

_God, he’s beautiful like this._

Once the last of the dishes was put away, Steve leaned against the counter and just contented himself with watching Bucky, fingers itching for his sketchbook.

“You said you found something,” Bucky finally broke the silence, turning his head, away from the view towards Steve, sipping at his coffee before taking a drag from the cigarette.

“I did.”

“Care to elaborate?”

Steve went over to the shelve to retrieve his laptop that he had put aside there to make room on the table. “It’s easier if I show you,” he explained and Bucky stubbed out the cigarette and hopped off the window sill, his coffee securely in his left hand.

“What am I looking at?” he asked as he stepped next to Steve to peer at the laptop in front of them.

“Well,” Steve started, clicking through the files, documents, and pictures from last night, “Stane wasn’t the smartest one, that’s for sure. He didn’t even try to hide what he was doing, literally signed his emails with ‘Hail Hydra’.” Bucky let out a slightly amused, but mostly disgusted snort and muttered “idiot” under his breath but otherwise didn’t comment. Instead he leaned forward and Steve stepped back to give his partner a better view. “Anyway,” Steve continued, “we still don’t know what Project Insight is but…” he trailed off, clicking forward to the next file, a series of emails and photos of Stane’s schedule.

Bucky stared silently at the screen, taking in the information, then – “Shit!” he swore and Steve knew he’d seen what Steve had seen, “Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_!” With the last curse, the brunet pushed himself off the table, staggering backwards, his hands buried deep in his hair. “Fuck! Why the hell did I let you talk me into this?”

Steve had very great things to say about that particular notion because _excuse me, I didn’t talk you into anything_, but refrained. _There is a time and a place and this is neither_.

“Bucky,” he said instead as calm as possible, “I know this looks bad –”

“We’re fucked, Rogers,” Bucky cut in and Steve ignored him.

“—but we’ve come this far and can’t just give up now that things are getting a bit tough –”

“We’re _fucked_, Rogers.”

“—And we’ll think of something,” Steve finished.

Bucky blinked. Once. Twice. His face showing utter disbelief. “Think of something?” he repeated, his voice higher than usually, “Like what? We’re. Fucked. Rogers. There’s nothing we can do except delete this shit and pretend nothing happened and hope to whatever is out there that it’s not already too late.”

Steve stared back at his partner, mouth hanging open. “Come on, Buck,” he tried but the brunet was already vigorously shaking his head.

“Don’t you come on, Buck-me,” he interrupted loudly, almost desperately, “What do you want to do Steve? This is the fucking major we’re talking about. What? You wanna knock on Alexander fucking Pierce’s office and be like ‘excuse me sir, I was just wondering if you’re part of an internationally active organised crime organisation?”

“Well no, but –”

“No. Period.” Bucky’s eyes were wide as he stared at Steve but none the less determined, the fondness Steve had found there these last few days gone, replaced by a new kind of hardness. “It’s not gonna happen, Steve. I’m not gonna let you risk everything over this.” _And what about you?_ “Delete it,” Bucky demanded, suddenly eerily calm, “Right now. Delete it.”

“I can’t do that, Bucky.”

“_Steve_.” His name like a prayer, like it could convey all the words in the world. “Do you have any idea what will happen to you if you do this?”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

Silence. The city outside seemed distant, unreal, the only thing Steve was certain of was Bucky who looked at him in a way Steve had never seen before. There was something raw there, something intimate and vulnerable. Pleading.

“Delete it,” Bucky repeated while slowly backing away towards the door, “I’ll see you at work.”

The door shut with a final, irrevocable, soft, _click_.


	11. Chapter 11

Cursing and swearing under his breath, Bucky got into his car and started driving, blood rushing in his ears.

_Steve fucking Rogers_, he thought, _you’re gonna be the death of me_.

Except, Steve really wasn’t at fault for this, was he? He just couldn’t help but be himself – a good man.

_Means you deserve better._

_Better than me_, Bucky hadn’t said, _better than a corrupt cop who doesn’t give a shit about his job or this city, better than a damaged ex-undercover guy who did worse things than half the criminals we deal with, better than someone who smokes too much and drinks beer for breakfast and whose only friends have a standing invitation at the local prisons_.

A loud honk pulled him out of reverie, the red light he’d been stopping at long since a bright, blinding green.

“Alright, alright,” Bucky said to no one in particular and put his foot down, the car speeding through the street and only just missing a girl on a bike coming from his left as he made his way to the precinct.

* * *

“You’re early,” Natasha commented when Bucky walked in, and he was. So early, in fact, that some stragglers of the nightshift were still there. A guy Bucky was sure was called Peter was sleeping at his desk while a scary looking woman with red hair threw little paper balls at him. Bucky wondered if she might be Natasha’s evil twin.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answered the red-head next to him which wasn’t a lie, really. Instead of waiting for Natasha to say something else, Bucky went into the break room and poured himself a cup of coffee before walking to his desk. There was an ever-growing pile of paperwork on the side which he had pointedly ignored but that now looked incredibly tempting, so before he could change his mind, he sat down and picked up the first file with a barely audible sigh.

* * *

“Barnes. My office. Now,” captain Hill grit out as she strode past his desk and Bucky was left staring after her with a deep frown on his face, trying to think of what he could have possibly done to anger her so early in the morning but came up empty-handed so he did the only thing he could do – he stood up and followed.

“Sit.” Bucky did, feeling uncomfortably out of his depth. “Have you heard from detective Rogers?”

“No,” Bucky answered tentatively.

“He won’t be coming in today,” Hill said, pressing her lips into a thin line, “He won’t be coming in for a while.”

Bucky frowned. “Why?”

“I had a very furious major Pierce on the phone this morning. Apparently detective Rogers ambushed him in his office and asked highly inappropriate questions. When the major couldn’t give the answers Rogers wanted, he became upset.” Bucky blinked and blinked again. _What?_ He wanted to ask but of course, the answer would stay the same. “You seem surprised,” Hill noted, “I’ll take it that you didn’t know why your partner might have done that.” Bucky shook his head, feeling numb and vaguely nauseous. “Detective Rogers has been suspended from duty for the foreseeable future. Unfit for duty, I think, is the term major Pierce used. I know you understand the importance of him to this precinct, which is why I’m positive you won’t be doing anything stupid. However, I’ll give you the day off as well.” There was something in her voice, something urging, as if there was a meaning there Bucky was meant to catch. “Give you some time to process things. Maybe talk to a few friends, do something else.” The look in her eyes was piercing, meaningful, and Bucky’s frown deepened. “I will see tomorrow morning, James. Dismissed.”

The clipped goodbye had Bucky’s head reeling and he hardly noticed exiting the office and the station.

_What is happening_, he wondered, _why would Steve do something like that?_

Of course, he knew the answer to that question, as well.

_I shouldn’t have left. This is all my fault._

Bucky wasn’t sure how long he sat in his car, staring at nothing, heart and thoughts racing as he fought of the rising panic that was threatening to swallow him whole.

Slowly, he pulled out his phone to call Steve. No answer. He tried again. No answer.

“This is fine,” he told the phone in his hand. The phone didn’t reply and Bucky chucked it onto the passenger seat so he could start the car. “This is perfectly fine."

* * *

Nothing was fine.

Steve wasn’t answering his phone or his door. Bucky had even called Peggy who had called her niece who had casually asked every person Steve knew if they’d heard from him in a way only a spy could without raising suspicion but no one had. Steve Rogers was, for all intents and purposes, missing.

And then Bucky’s phone rang.

“Yes?” he said to the unknown caller, sitting up unnaturally straight on the couch in Frank’s apartment.

“Where is he?”

“Where’s who?” Bucky asked, “And who the hell is this?”

“This is Sam,” the man on the other end of the line replied, “Now where is Steve?”

Bucky frowned. “How’d you get my number?” He was pretty sure he hadn’t given it to the man that one time they’d met.

“Kate gave it to me.”

_Who the hell is Kate?_ Bucky wanted to ask before remembering that that was the name Sharon had used in D.C.

“I don’t know where Steve is,” he told Sam, careful to keep his voice as even as possible.

“He’s not with you?” Sam asked, his own voice anything but even.

“Why would he be with me?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Barnes,” Sam all but growled, “Steve might be head over heels for you, but I’m not.”

“He’s been suspended from duty this morning,” Bucky explained, not touching any of the things Sam had just thrown at him.

“I know, that’s why I’m looking for him. We were supposed to meet for lunch.”

“And he didn’t show up?”

“Would I call you if he had?”

_Breathe_, Barnes, _just breathe_.

“Where are you?” Bucky asked, toeing the line between urgent and utter desperation.

“At Steve’s,” Sam answered, “He’s not here either.”

Bucky nodded to himself and got up, grabbing his keys, cigarettes, and wallet. “Stay there,” he said to Sam, “I’m on my way.” And before Sam even had the chance to say anything to that, Bucky had already ended the call and was now storming down the stairs towards his car.

It wasn’t far to Steve’s apartment and Bucky made it in half the time it would usually take, possibly breaking every single traffic law there was.

“What’s going on?” Sam greeted him when Bucky got out of the car. He looked worried.

“Do you have a key?” Bucky asked in return and Sam shook his head. _Fair enough_. Breaking into Steve’s apartment took all of thirty seconds, _idiot needs better security_, Bucky thought.

“What the fuck?” Sam sputtered behind him, “Why are you breaking in?”

“Steve’s not here,” Bucky explained, pushing the door open – and freezing on the spot. The place was a mess. Paintings had ripped from the walls, books were lying everywhere, and the coffee table was turned upside down. “_Shit_. Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!”

“What the fuck,” Sam said again although this time, Bucky was pretty sure it wasn’t really directed at him. “What the fuck, Barnes?!” Or maybe it was. Bucky didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The chaos and destruction of the room burning itself into his brain, taunting him, accusing him.

“Sam,” he choked out slowly, “Come with me.” And without another word, Bucky turned around and walked away. Sam followed.

They stayed silent as they walked out on the street. They were silent as they got into Bucky’s car. They were silent as Bucky drove them back to Frank’s place.

“What –” Sam spoke up after Bucky had parked.

“Not here,” Bucky cut in quickly, taking out his phone and just looked at it for a moment. What if…but no, that couldn’t be. Surely, he was just being paranoid.

_But what if I’m not?_

What if…

Not taking the risk, Bucky left the phone in the car, if someone had bugged it, destroying it would draw too much attention, _and who knows, maybe the car’s bugged as well…_

Sam followed when Bucky went inside the building, frowning, that frown got even deeper when they entered the apartment.

“One second,” Bucky told him and then began methodically sweeping the place. He found nothing. “Alright.” He sat down on the couch and gestured for Sam to do the same while lighting a cigarette. Sam chose the closest chair and looked at Bucky with an unreadable expression. “What do you wanna know?”

“How about everything.”

Buck grimaced. Everything, wasn’t something he wanted to tell to this man that he’d barely met once, this man who made it clear he wasn’t overly fond of him, this man who, for all Bucky knew, could be involved in all this.

_But Steve trusts him_, he reminded himself. That was good enough, he decided.

* * *

Frank and the Guys were there. So were Natasha and Clint. So was Sharon.

And then someone knocked at the door.

The whole room fell silent, everyone staring at the piece of wood that separated them from whoever was in the hallway on the other side.

_Knock. Knock._

“Who’s there?” Scott whispered into the tension of the room, breaking the spell and making Bucky want to kill him. He didn’t.

“Your apartment, your door,” he told Frank instead who didn’t even complain as he stood up to see who it was. From where Bucky was sitting he couldn’t see who stood behind the door, but he could hear.

“I hope we’re not too late to the party.”

_Ahh, shit._

Captain fucking Hill.

“Who are you?” Frank grunted.

“I’m captain Hill of the 107, this is Chief Fury, and Tony Stark.” _Ahh. Shit._ “May we come in?”

Bucky could hear Frank hesitate and, before his friend did anything stupid like slam the door shut, he quickly stood up himself and walked over to the minor stand-down.

“Captain,” he greeted Hill.

“James.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Maybe we could discuss that inside?”

Bucky’s mind went back to that morning, the way Hill’s eyes had been telling stories at odds with her words, he could still see the tense line in her shoulders and the sheen of sweat on her forehead. She’d been nervous. She was nervous now.

“Alright.” Bucky stepped aside and threw a glance at Frank, silently telling him to do the same. The three new-comers entered the small apartment, filling it to its last capacity. “It’s a bit crowded I’m afraid.”

“Good,” Hill just said and settled in a corner, her back straight and her eyes screening the room and everyone in it. “We’ll need all the help we can get.” Bucky frowned but didn’t ask. “Now,” Hill continued, “Before we start, let me just say that neither I, now Nick, give a shit about who is in this room or what they might have done at one point, all I care about is that my new detective has gone missing, coincidentally just after allegedly harassing the major.”

“Allegedly?” Bucky asked into the stunned silence, “That sounded a bit different this morning.”

“James,” Hill said, her eyes softening a bit when she met Bucky’s gaze, “I’m perfectly aware that Steve is a bit…hot-headed…sometimes, but he’s also smart. Smart enough to not outright accuse Pierce of being in liaison with one of the biggest and most dangerous crime organisations in the world. I’ve known for a while now that the NYPD is…compromised…but this is the first time where we came anywhere near close to doing something about it, I wasn’t going to risk that advantage by being careful with your feelings.”

That…actually made sense. “Now,” Hill turned back to the room, “What do we have?”

It should be done with that. Bucky should simply sit back and give the info he had but…

“Abraham Erskine,” he said, eyes locked on Fury who flinched ever so slightly, obviously not expecting Bucky to know that name, “He was 13 when he died. You were there. You saw it happen. You became a fucking cop. A captain. Chief of police. But you did nothing. Why?” It wasn’t anger, exactly, that he was feeling. Bucky new anger, it was sharp and clean and made him focus. This was something else, something close to anger but dulled somehow, dimmed, muddled with other things he couldn’t name.

_Is this how Steve always feels? _

“By the time I’d joined the force it was already an old case,” Fury explained, seeming uncharacteristically timid, “I don’t have an excuse for not re-opening it except that I didn’t want to compromise my own career and that of my friends. What happened was a tragic accident.”

That it was, Bucky agreed silently bit decided not to say it. He was in no position to judge…he’d done far worse in his time undercover than cover up some kid’s death.

“We believe that Hydra was involved in Howard’s death,” Bucky began and then laid out all the things he and Steve hand found out.


	12. Chapter 12

Going to Pierce had been an impulsive and, in retrospective, stupid idea. Reckless. Steve wasn’t even sure what he had expected, except maybe some remorse, but no. Pierce was a shark out for blood and as soon as the word ‘Hydra’ had left Steve’s lips he’d been doomed.

“I knew you were trouble the second you walked in,” none other than Brock fucking Rumlow hissed at him while he loomed over the blond.

They’d knocked him and out and brought him…somewhere…somewhere that was dark and damp, a naked lightbulb dangling from the ceiling, a singular chair standing in the middle of the room, the very same chair Steve was bound to with cable ties, his head and arms and entire fucking body throbbing from the kicks and punches they’d treated him to.

“You with your boy scout looks and your pretty little ideals,” Rumlow went on, he’d been at it for about fifteen minutes now, soliloquizing at Steve like some bad villain in an even worse action movie. So far, Steve had learned the names of all the major figures of Hydra, the locations of important headquarters, safe houses, and warehouses, as well as Hydra’s main goal without even saying a single word. Talking was hard with a gag in your mouth. “Of course,” the police man in front of Steve said, “That won’t help you now. As soon as we’ve destroyed every piece of evidence that you and your scumbag partner collected, you’re gonna die, and don’t think that we’ll be so nice to dump your body in the river.” It was the sixth death threat Steve had gotten so far. “Stark was a mistake, I admit. A mistake that would never have happened if I’d been there but the stupid newbie panicked. He got what he deserved for that. I –”

“That’s quite enough, Brock,” a voice from behind Rumlow interrupted the monologue and, thankfully, Rumlow fell silent immediately, “We’ll want to keep some things to ourselves.” The Mayor stepped forward into the faint, flickering light, a cold smile on his face and for the first time since this whole ordeal had started, Steve felt something akin to fear. This was the man responsible for thousands of deaths, the man pulling the strings and giving the orders, the man behind Hydra. “Steven Grant Rogers,” Pierce said, “I must say, I’m impressed. You’re the first one to get this far, you should feel honoured. I don’t come down here just for anyone, you know, but you…” he shook his head, chuckling to himself, “You’re special. Tell me, Steven, how did you find me?” Steve glared at Pierce, despite the fear, despite the pain, he put as much malice into his eyes as he could muster and grumbled a few choice insults into his gag. “But of course,” Pierce exclaimed, “How silly of me.” And then the gag was gone.

“Fuck you,” Steve spat out.

“There is no need for such strong language,” Pierce replied almost softly, “I know you’re frustrated but I promise it’ll be painless. In the end.”

“Like it was for Howard Stark?” Steve asked, not able to help himself.

“Howard was…an unfortunate accident,” Pierce answered, speaking like someone who’d burned his dinner rather than killed a man, “He was being difficult, I had no other choice, Steven, don’t you see? I did what I had to do, for the greater good.”

“The greater good?”

“You wouldn’t understand. A shame, really, a man like you…resourceful, resilient, strong…You could have done great things for us. For me.”

“Thanks, I’d rather die.”

“Oh, you will. After you tell me how you found me.”

Steve had never been all that good at covert operations and subtle interrogation tactics, had always preferred to be upfront about his intentions, and he knew that his meagre skills were useless against Pierce. Stalling was not an option. But neither was talking.

“Oh, I will,” Steve replied, trying to match Pierce’s level of confidence and cockiness, “after you tell me why Howard had to die.”

Pierce considered Steve for a long moment, cold smile playing around his lips. “Like I said, he was being difficult,” he answered, “We had a deal, you see, Stark Industries supplied us the weapons we needed and I wouldn’t end his poor excuse of a life with the things I knew about him. But, of course, then Maria Hill became captain for the 107th, promising progress…it gave Howard ideas. He refused to keep working for me and gave the company to his son. It had been part of the deal that Obadiah Stane would take over. And he thought he could threaten me. He was wrong, of course. The world needs us.” He believed it. That was the scary thing. Pierce believed that what he was doing was good and right. A man with a cause. “Now, I help up my side of the deal. It’s time that you do as well.”

* * *

There was a crash outside. A grunt. A shout. A shot.

Something like shock in Pierce’s eyes as he turned around to stare at the door and hope blooming in Steve’s chest. They’d found him.

The door flew open with a loud bang and there, outlined by the dirty light of the hallway, stood James Buchanan Barnes. An avenging angel full of fury and so very beautiful.

“Alexander Pierce;” he said coolly, stepping forward, his gun trained on the major, “I’m arresting you for so many fucking things that we’d be here for the next 70 years if I listed them all…Natasha?” He stepped aside and, indeed, Natasha was there, equally furious as Bucky, a pair of handcuffs dangling from her fingers as she started going through the long list of Pierce’s crimes but Steve’s focus was already on Bucky.

Bucky who looked at him with wide eyes.

Bucky who quickly bridged the distance between them to fall on his knees.

Bucky who pressed his lips together as he took in Steve’s bloody face.

“Idiot,” he hissed, pulling out a knife to cut the cable ties, “You had me worried there, punk.”

“Didn’t know you cared,” Steve slurred, he could feel himself fading, slipping into unconsciousness. Bucky was here, he was safe.

“Then you’re even more stupid than I thought,” Bucky replied, pressing their foreheads together for a moment, before asking, “Can you walk?”

Steve nodded, even the small movement of his head send waves of pain through his body, and he pushed himself up.

The world tipped and tilted and Steve closed his eyes for a moment, when he opened them again, he was, for some reason, slumped against Bucky’s broad frame.

“Idiot,” Bucky said again, tightening his arms around Steve.

Steve wanted to protest, he really did, but it felt kind of nice being pressed up against the brunet and having Bucky lead him outside, feeling his strength and warmth, and that, Steve decided, was the only reason why he didn’t because he was fine. He really was.

* * *

“Concussion, several broken ribs, one of which fractured your lungs, broken bones in your right hand, more bruises than I can count, and you lost three teeth.” Steve was lying in the hospital bed, looking up at Bucky who was staring back at him mercilessly. “I really hope you appreciate the effort it takes me not to say I told you so.”

“You just said it,” Steve said, unable to help himself, even if the words sounded somewhat weak.

“Because I did,” Bucky replied desperately, “I said, Steve, don’t go after Pierce, you’ll die.”

“Not dead.”

“That’s not the point, Steve,” the brunet cried out, “The point is that you cold have and you got hurt and none of it was necessary.”

There was a moment of silence. A moment in which the only sound was the beeping of the heart monitor. Then –

“Why do you care?”

“What?”

“Why do you care?”

It was the only question that mattered to Steve. The only question he’d been asking himself since the moment he met Bucky.

_Why did he care?_

“Because…” Bucky started, trailing off, his eyes piercing into Steve, “You deserve better.”

_What does that mean?_

Except he knew, didn’t he? Or at least he thought he did.

“Better than you, you mean.”

For a second Steve thought Bucky was going to change the topic, was going to say he didn’t know what Steve meant. But he didn’t.

“Yes, Steve,” he answered instead, looking more sincere than Steve had ever seen him, “Better than me.”

“I’d decide to be with you, you know,” Steve finally spoke the words that had been haunting him since last night. It seemed longer than that. “I’d chose you, Bucky.”

“Steve…” Bucky shook his head, a violent mixture of hope and hurt hovering behind his eyes, “I’m messed up.”

“And I don’t care.”

“You should.”

Steve smiled, then. It was a small, tentative thing, shy and fragile. “I know you don’t think much of yourself,” he started, “But you’re brilliant, Buck. Something terrible happened to you, something outside of your control, and you had every right to back out afterwards, but you didn’t. You stayed because you’re stubborn and strong and you _care_. You care so much.”

Bucky stared, a pained expression on his face. “Steve.” Bucky’s voice was hoarse and choked and yet it cut through the silence like a knife, threatening to cut both of them.

“Listen, Bucky,” Steve started anew, “I’m gonna spell it out for you – I like you. A lot. I like how strong you are. I like how you don’t take anyone’s shit. I like how careful you are. I like how you survive. It also helps that your hot as fuck,” he added, trying to lighten the mood, startling a surprised laugh from Bucky. “I’m not saying let’s elope. I’m saying let’s see where this can go.”

“You have no idea what you’d be getting into,” the brunet told him, shaking his head and chewing on his lower lip.

“Neither do you.”

There was the hint of a smile in the corners of Bucky’s mouth. “I think I do, actually.”

_Is that a yes?_ Steve wanted to ask but refrained. He didn’t think he had to anyway. The way Bucky was looking a him now, completely open, vulnerable, was enough. The way their fingers brushed and linked, almost shily, was enough. The way the others smiled when they came in half an hour later, fondly but teasingly, was enough.


	13. Epilogue

The apartment had been scrubbed from top to bottom three times now and Bucky was currently furiously rearranging the pillows on the couch. He wasn’t even sure why he was so nervous except this was his _sister_. His sister which he hadn’t talked to in six years, his sister who had thought he was dead until a few months ago, his sister who would be coming by with her husband and her son any minute now.

“Hey.” Strong arms slung around him and a warm body pressed up behind him. “It’s perfect.”

“You think?” Bucky turned around and ended up mere inches away from Steve who was smiling at him fondly.

“Yeah.”

Bucky had moved into Steve’s place the second the blond had been released from the hospital. They were taking it slow, though, Bucky had his own room and everything even if he ended up in Steve’s bed more often than not.

“I just…” he tried, “I just don’t want her to think I’m a mess.”

Steve chuckled, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s nose. “You are a mess,” he whispered, “But you’re my mess.”

“Don’t be so mushy, it’s disgusting,” Bucky grumbled even if he leaned into the touch and had to fight to keep the blush off his cheeks.

The bell rang and Bucky froze.

_Shit, shit, shit, that’s them._

“I’ll get it,” Steve said, stealing one more kiss before buzzing Becca, Ben and Michael in, leaving Bucky to his minor panic attack.

_What if they hate it? What if they hate Steve? What if they can’t forgive me for disappearing on them?_

The one phone call a week ago when Bucky had sat on the couch next to Steve with trembling hands, had been filled with many tears and Becca had sounded so happy that her brother was alive but that had been last week, she’d had time to think things over since then and what if she decided that he wasn’t worth the trouble anymore? What if –

“Oh my god!”

Bucky froze, staring at the open door where one Rebecca Barnes-Proctor was standing, hands over her mouth.

“Hey, little sis.”

“I can’t believe it,” she breathed out, “I couldn’t believe it but…it’s actually you. You’re alive.”

“I am,” Bucky confirmed, his eyes feeling suspiciously wet.

Becca rushed forward, tackling him with a tight hug and Bucky could only cling to her. He’d thought he’d never get to hold her again and now –

“You bastard,” Becca muttered into his shirt, “You utter, fucking bastard. I thought you were dead.”

_I was._

“I’m not.”

“I’m so happy to see you.”

Only now, did Bucky notice the other two people in the room. Ben, Becca’s husband, was smiling brightly, his arm slung around Michael. The boy had grown in the last six years, almost as tall as Bucky now but lanky with floppy brown hair and a pair of glasses framing his blue eyes.

“Hey, kiddo,” Bucky choked out, still holding onto his sister.

“Hey, uncle Bucky.”

They used to be close. Before. Bucky had babysat the kid almost every weekend when he’d been a baby and after that there had been long weekends filled with too many sweets and long nights and early mornings.

Becca slowly detached herself from Bucky and took a step back, allowing him to have a proper look at her. Her hair was shorter that he’d remembered, barely covering her ears, the old scar on her forehead from when she’d fallen from a tree as a kid was still there, so was the tattoo on her collarbone. Around her neck was a silver chain and on the silver chain hung –

_My dog tags_.

A new wave of pain and sorrow was sent through his body as the full meaning of his disappearance sank in. She had thought he was dead. She had mourned for him. She had worn his dog tags as the only thing remaining of him.

“I’m so happy to see you too, Becs.”

They looked at each other for a moment, each taking in the other, each trying to comprehend that this was _real_.

“Would you like some tea?” Steve’s soft voice broke the silence.

“Oh god,” Becca exclaimed, turning towards the blond, “I’m so rude. You must be Steve, I’m Becca, Bucky’s sister.”

“I know.” Steve smiled. “He talks a lot about you.” And he had, Bucky realised, in the last six months, Bucky and Steve had truly gotten to know each other and Bucky had told him everything there was to know about the scrappy little girl that had been Becca Barnes as a kid. “I’ll give you all a moment.”

“No, no, don’t be ridiculous,” Becca quickly protested, “This is your home as well and you’re Bucky’s boyfriend. You’re family.”

Bucky could see his boyfriend kind of awkwardly lingering by the door, probably not sure what to do with himself while Bucky and Becca were having a moment, and was now stunned into silence, his cheeks beautifully flushed.

“Come here,” Bucky finally took pity on Steve and extended his hand which Steve accepted, “Right, this is Steve, my boyfriend, boyfriend, this is my sister Becca, her husband Ben, and the little squirt is Michael.”

“Not little anymore,” Michael muttered under his breath.

“It’s really good to meet you all,” Steve said, sounding so damn earnest it was almost ridiculous.

“You too, Steve,” Ben replied, and offered his hand which Steve took, “Bucky mentioned you’re a cop as well?”

“I am. We were partners for a little while.” Before Hill had offered Bucky a position at the Academy which was looking for a new lecturer for their organised crime classes. Bucky had accepted on the spot. Steve’s new partner now was a woman called Carol Danvers and the two made a beautiful team. “What do you do?”

And just like that the ice was broken. Bucky ended up making the tea, leaving Steve and Ben to bond over World War Two art, and Becca came to help him and draw him into another hug.

“I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you too, Becca.”

“Is this…is he…are you happy?”

“You know,” Bucky whispered into his sister’s hairline, “I really think I am.” He raised his head to look at Steve animatedly talking about some painting from 1940-something, his hand gesturing wildly and his eyes burning with an unbound passion. “He’s one hell of a guy.”

“I’m glad.”

Bucky caught Michael’s eyes and smiled at his nephew who smiled back, shily, hesitantly. “Will Michael be okay?” he asked in a low voice, turning around to pour the boiling water into the mugs.

“Yeah,” Becca answered, “It just hit him hard, you dying, he was only 6…I’m not sure he even really understood what it meant before that but then you never came back and he just…he loved you so much.”

“I love him too. He was a good kid.”

“He still is.”

“Do you think…I mean, would it be okay if…could I spend some time with him?” Bucky tripped over his words but this was important. He wanted to get to know Michael again, he wanted to be the best fucking uncle out there because the kid deserved it.

“Of course you can,” Becca answered as if it wasn’t even a question worth asking, “Whenever you want, for however long.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, dumbass. You’re family, as well.”

And wasn’t that something? Six years ago he’d lost everything he’d had and now…now he had more than ever before.

Across the room, Steve laughed wholeheartedly at a joke Michael had just told and Bucky fell a little bit deeper in love.


End file.
